Web of Fate
by lark lavroc
Summary: AU. After Gozaburo's death, Seto, Yami and Mokuba try to heal emotional wounds, but complications arise when they meet a certain someone bearing a strange puzzle. [SetoYami]. WIP.
1. it began like this

**Disclaimer:**YuGiOh belongs to someone else. Not me. No profit is made here.

**Author's Note:** Rewritten and to be turned into a WIP bangs head on desk. As if I don't have enough WIPs to attend to...but this just won't let go. sigh

* * *

**::it began like this::**

* * *

_"Who is he?" Seto asked Mokuba as he suspiciously eyed the smiling spiky-haired and ruby-eyed boy who was standing next to his little brother. _

_"That's kinda rude you know," the boy said challengingly. "I am standing right here."_

_"So?" Seto's hackles rose, and he narrowed his eyes. "Who asked you?"_

_"Big brother, this is my new friend Yami. Yami this is my big brother, Seto," Mokuba said obliviously cheerful, still too caught up with the idea that he had actually, unmistakably made a _friend _to notice the animosity and tension. What he did notice though, was the dubious way Seto was regarding Yami. He knew his big brother didn't trust easily – probably not trusting at all – but Yami wasn't like the others. Yami had stood up for him when the other kids had teased Mokuba and Seto had been kept away by prospective parents. This not only made Yami a friend, but a really good one too; he just had to convince Seto._

_"Big brother, don't be like that," Mokuba looked up at Seto with disapproval. "Yami's not like that. He's cool. He likes playing games and – and – everything! He's great." _

_At Seto's darkening look, Mokuba decided to use the trump card. He felt distinctly guilty, but quickly brushed it aside because this was for Seto's own good, and just because Seto didn't want any friends didn't mean he didn't need them. Mokuba loved having Seto all to himself, and he knew Seto would rather be with Mokuba than anybody else, but sometimes, when he was feeling particularly sad, or when Seto was patiently explaining something or another to him and Mokuba felt all too young and stupid, he thought Seto would be happier spending time with someone his own age. He made sure to keep this little thought to himself though, just because he knew Seto would have a list of reasons why he'd rather have Mokuba's company and because if Seto didn't know he was lonely, Mokuba didn't want to be the one to tell it to him. _

_"But Seto...Yami stood up for me when those bullies tried to take way my plane again. He made them give it back and then nearly got into a fight!" Mokuba looked beseechingly up at Seto, and then tugged at his hand. "Give him a chance, please? I want him to hang out with us!" This time, he made sure his eyes grew luminous and hopeful, turning his face into an expression he _knew_ Seto wouldn't resist. _

_Seto finally sighed, and gave one last half-hearted glare towards Yami. He then walked closer, until they were within an arm's length of each other, and shoved a hand forward in an awkward manner. "I guess...I guess I was being rude." He turned to look at Mokuba again, and at the sight of that happy face, decided to admit defeat. Turning back to wary red-eyes, Seto asked politely, "Let's start again?"_

_Yami's mouth quirked, slowly at first, before branching out into a full-fledged smile. He took Seto's hand, shook it, and stared into very, very blue eyes. "I think we can do that." _

_They stared at each other for a while, hands clasped together in a bond of tentative friendship. It wasn't until a few minutes had passed that Seto realised they were still standing there, like stone statues with their arms stretched out and their hands gripping each others, and moved hastily away. He tried to hide his confusion and when he wasn't successful, was glad that Yami too hadn't escaped unscathed. Seto turned to Mokuba, who was flickering his gaze from Yami to him in a wide-eyed manner, and was about to tell Mokuba they were leaving, when he was interrupted._

_"Do you play chess?" _

_Seto paused, shut his mouth and considered. He gazed intently at Yami, looking for weaknesses or hidden motives, he wasn't sure, but grew satisfied at what he found. He nodded his acceptance – Mokuba grinned – and tilted his head before saying with interest, "You think you can win?"_

_He gave a mischievous grin in response. "Why don't we see?" His grin became larger as Seto looked at him with an intense inquisitiveness that had absolutely everything to do with Yami's challenge. He could feel Seto wanting it too; the need to win, to go against an opponent who could more than match his wits, to _win_ against such an opponent; but most of all, the very challenge itself was like an energy source, fuelling both their appetites for more. _

_"Fine," Seto said finally, his posture relaxing but also straightening in anticipation. _

_"Yeah! It'll be great!" Mokuba looked at both of them with enthusiasm before taking Seto's hand and pulling him back into the main house of the orphanage. "Let's go!" _

_All three walked in; all three walked out. _

Seto Kaiba stared back at Gozaburo Kaiba's sneering, triumphant face levelly, not once breaking eye contact and never flinching from the impending failure Gozaburo seemed to be sending his way. He managed by no small feat to keep still and composed, not once giving his adopted father any hint of his own nervousness. For so long he had planned, schemed and fought his way to position where he could now at last topple Gozaburo and claim what was rightfully his. What he had _earned_. Brought and paid for with his own blood and anger and pain. The kind of pain that was meant to destroy the soul, but only made Seto more determined, more hateful, and more eager to destroy what Gozaburo had wrought. And now was the time for all his plans to come to fruition.

He never took his hard blue eyes off of Gozaburo's smirking face. "You have failed, Seto. Did you think it was so easy for you to win? Ha! You just never learn do you, boy? Never, _ever_try to cross me. You will always regret it."

Seto said nothing. He had no reply and would have none until the final chapter of this tense episode was finished. How long it would last though, was up to someone other than himself. And this was the reason why he wasn't as confident as he seemed. As long as he lived and breathed, he would find some way to take over KaibaCorp. This he had vowed long ago. As had Yami, who had held Seto's left hand with his right, and swore with all the fervour an eight year had, to help Seto reach his goal.

"What, nothing to say Seto? Cowed by your own defeat? And you!" Gozaburo thundered to the sweating businessmen after taunting Seto with derisive disgust in his voice. "You, my own employees. I will punish you for this treachery!"

Gritting his teeth, Seto unwound tightly clenched fists that had moved of their own accord, mimicking the twisting of his heart.

Yami was late.

His hands tightened involuntarily again.

Late.

"You have not won yet," Seto said quietly, but with more confidence than he felt. His voice was soft and darkly strong, tinged with resentment, hatred and the barest flicker of fear that was quickly driven away.

"And what gives you that delusional idea, Seto? Hm? Care to elaborate?" Gozaburo gloated, self assured and cocky now that he had the upper hand.

Seto eyes flashed blue fire in a challenge, but he still said nothing. He waited. Impatience thrived, and Seto's red-hot temper was nearing its end. Failure? Had he failed at the most crucial moment? Betrayed? His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed to clear it and all his doubts. Yami wouldn't do that. Wouldn't what? Want KaibaCorp for himself? Fool...Gozaburo's voice hissed in his mind. Weak fool, to allow someone this much control of you, of your future. What reason would Yami stay loyal to you? Love? he scoffed.

Seto's stomach churned.

The doors flung open, dramatically, incredulously, and Gozaburo stared in shock. Yami walked in, a dark, intimidating figure in black and wearing a smirk that could rival Gozaburo's.

"Am I late?" he asked innocently, lowering unnerving red eyes in a parody of modest courtesy. "My most sincere apologies."

Finally getting over his shock, Gozaburo proceeded to regain his composure by taking control of the situation again. "That is quite all right Yami. Indeed, I was just making a note to Seto about how he should never defy me again."

Yami quirked one eyebrow before walking over to the large conference table, and settling himself down onto a seat that faced both Gozabura and Seto. He leaned back, crossed his legs and then flung one slender folder neatly onto the centre of the table. He smirked, meeting his adopted father's eyes directly and said, "I think you should take a look Gozabura."

Seto relaxed, a tiny release of tense muscles before he returned Yami's flickering glance. The plan was set. The pawns were in place. Let it begin.

No matter how many times he dreamt this, fantasised over the tiniest details; it would always lack the utter _satisfaction _he derived from the reality. He memorised every single detail. Every single reaction Gozaburo made apparent and those he didn't. His eyes gleamed in pleasure as he looked upon surprise, shock, incredulity, and finally, angry acceptance. He took note of clenched fists, tight enough to bleed, and the rigidity of Gozaburo's towering posture. He laughed snidely. "What? Can't take your defeat? Cowed?" Seto mocked with Yami by his side.

"Very good Seto. Very good," Gozaburo said grudgingly, stiffly before turning away. "I see you have somehow managed to convince Mokuba and Yami to sign away all their shares -- giving you more than fifty percent of KaibaCorp." He turned to Yami. "All planned from the beginning. I should have known."

"But you didn't figure it out," Yami had to point out, arms crossed and head tilted in an amused way. "Why would I ally myself with you, hm? Didn't really think about that, did you? You underestimated me. Seto. Us." Yami's amusement drained away and a flush of anger stained his tanned cheeks. "Despite the fact that you tried to _force_ us to hate each other, playing us like mindless pawns to your king, we still won!"

A myriad of emotions; bitterness, hate, resentment crossed Yami's face before it settled back into a blank slate, an expression Seto saw most often at the opposing end of a battle.

"So you have," Gozaburo said calmly now, standing up and starting to walk away. Away from Seto, away from Yami and towards the sky-lined view of Domino City. He watched over the city and then turned towards Seto before saying intensely, hypnotically, "The strong will devour the weak, as it should be. Remember this well, Seto, as I did." Then, Gozaburo forced himself through pane glass, shards falling around him in a burst, and fell.

Seto closed his eyes.

"What should we do now?" Yami asked curiously, not a hint of regret in obvious and subtle sight, and leaning back against Seto's new desk in Gozaburo's old office. "He's gone. We always wanted him gone."

Seto sighed and spoke almost abstractly, face still turned towards the large, overhead view of a city that was his. "What are your plans?"

"I don't know," he answered just as quietly, just as abstractly. "I haven't exactly thought that far ahead. You?"

"I pictured this ever since he adopted us," Seto said intensely, darkening blue eyes still facing the window, but looking into the past. "I wanted him _gone_. I wanted KaibaCorp. I wanted back _my_ inventions. I wanted to protect Mokuba." He added more softly with a wry twist to his lips, "And you, to an extent. I wanted _everything_, and now that I have it, I don't know where to start."

Yami frowned in thought, and lightly drummed his fingers onto Gozaburo's – no, _Seto's_ – desk. "Disarm KaibaCorp. Turn it into what we've always wanted it to be, and then, we can just go from there."

"Making it up as we go along?" A sudden fleeting emotion appeared on what was usually a stone-hard face. "That simple?"

"Why not?" Yami laughed softly. "You always did like to make things more complicated than it really is. What would you and Mokuba do without me?" he asked, only half serious.

"Very well, I assume," Seto said coolly, but he had lost that hard look now, and the tension wired within him had abated.

"No doubt."

Then, Yami stood, and straightened his shirt, tugging at the hems and then the sleeves, which had slipped up his arms. He pushed them down, and over a couple of particularly long, pale pink scars, and then said, "Come on. I think it's time to give Mokuba some good news."

Watching Yami move, Seto fluidly stood up to follow and picked up his briefcase. He silently, but quickly, caught up with Yami, and side-by-side, they left KaibaCorp.

__


	2. we heal, we wound, we learn

_**Disclaimer:**_ Same as previous. Who owns YuGiOh? Not I, said the author.

******  
A/N:** Here's chapter two, which has taken a while to get done because I rewrote everything. (I blame this on you, ******Moe**). The rating's been upped to R, which seems to be right; I checked the guidelines but if you guys think otherwise, don't hesitate to tell me to edit. Also, please tell me if this sucked because I'm a bit wary after rereading and fixing the whole thing; the transitions and end, especially.

Thanks to **Jessica** for the beta and thanks to the readers for their feedback. Responses are below.

* * *

**** ******::we heal, we wound, we learn::**

Mokuba barely reacted. He had nodded in acceptance, like he usually did when he was offered juice for breakfast, and turned back to the screen where all the fighting and fun was, not noticing the quick flicker of emotion on Seto's face. Yami noticed though, and reacted accordingly. A soft brush of hands and a quick shake of his head, multi-coloured strands whirling, did more than it should, and Seto relaxed; not a whole not, but that was to be expected. Mokuba wasn't acting as like he should be -- or to be more precise, he was acting as if nothing happened.

Seto was concerned, though he tried to hide it. One thing he had always feared was the influence Gozaburo would have on his little brother. To see his innocent little brother be under the rule of Gozaburo was enough to make his blood boil and spill over, but to have, in essence, Gozaburo's spirit corrupt him? It was the seventh, and last, hell. He looked at Yami, but Yami just shook his head again. ___Relax_, his eyes seem to say, searing into Seto's soul and delivering its message with a sharp punch. And Seto tried because Yami was right, and because Mokuba was Mokuba. Nothing, ___nobody_, was going to change that.

"Mokuba?" he asked, but just for reassurance's sake.

Dark eyes turned towards him in curiosity and then blinked, realisation and an infectious smile spreading. "I'm fine, Seto." He added with just the right amount of derision that seemed too foreign and too familiar, "It's not like I cared about him. He made you miserable. He made Yami fight with us. I hate him, still do."

Seto let the words curl around his mind, testing its implications and finding no fault within the logic. He finally gave a nod to Mokuba, who had gotten up to give his big brother a hug because Seto never would, and Mokuba just wanted Seto not to worry anymore. Seto had done everything; there was nothing left to do except take over KaibaCorp and deal with the board, whom were no doubt going to be angry one way or the other. Mokuba wasn't worried though. Seto was tough, and with Yami and him backing Seto, they were untouchable.

A hand lingered on dark hair, Seto looked to be as defenseless as he ever could be, and then it was over; Mokuba left the hug reluctantly, leaving Seto feeling chilled when there should be warmth, but it was what Seto wanted. He couldn't stand being defenseless for too long, even in their own home.

Yami watched, almost turning away because the scene was too intimate and just too ___much_for any third party to bear, and Mokuba would have rolled his eyes and said Yami was being stupid, and Seto would have said nothing, but nothing spoke volumes because Seto never disagreed. So Yami watched, with maybe a twinge of loneliness, a twist of amused self-disgust, and a slice of envy, as the scene between the two blood-related brothers ended and they finally noticed Yami. Mokuba did what he usually did: he gave Yami a hug next and grinned as if to say, ___you're part of this too so don't be sad_, before he went back to his television, leaving Yami and Seto to work around that short period of awkwardness.

Years spent living in the same house, under the same tyrannical rule, and still there were odd spaces, tense silences. That could have very well been because they had pretended to be enemies for so long that it became second nature and a second knowledge. Gozaburo made them fight; chess, business, design and anything else that was profitable and strategic were open for exploitation -- or as Gozaburo had put it, ___to rise to heights you have never seen before_. And what was better than a worthy opponent? Gozaburo had sought to twist their friendship into hate and grudging respect, until both of them were unrecognisable as the two boys who loved to play games -- and win -- in the orphanage, but even then, he had failed, and what he sought to create turned into something of the opposite. The hate that he had so wanted banded together and turned against him, casting him through the blue sky and down onto the grey concrete. And yet, Yami thought privately in the dark when he couldn't sleep and Seto's scent was all over him, Gozaburo might have been proud.

Seto sighed. "We'll have to deal with the board tomorrow."

The tension eased a bit and Yami nodded. "I'm sure they'll be less than agreeable."

"They'll be very powerful enemies."

"They can't do anything without us knowing and they know it. That's half the reason for their anger." Yami sounded confident, his frown notwithstanding.

"Still, I'm worried about -- "

"Oh, just hurry up and kiss already," Mokuba called out cheekily. He was facing them now, television all but forgotten.

Yami had to snicker, and because Seto just looked drolly at his little brother, he kept on snickering. There was nothing like some brotherly teasing to brighten the atmosphere, Yami thought.

"Mokuba," Seto warned, but he was smiling a little, as if he didn't want to and couldn't help it at the same time.

"Big brother, I just know you want to go upstairs and --"

"Mokuba!"

Snickering, Mokuba gave Yami a thumb's up. It was like a domino effect, and soon Yami was joining in the laughter much to Seto's mock show of displeasure. Seto glared at them, his blue eyes narrowing, but even he, the imposing, granite statue couldn't stop the barest quirk of his mouth, the lightening of his stormy blue eyes. It was as close to a laugh as he could manage.

* * *

Yami flung his jacket off onto the ground of Seto's bedroom. It would always be Seto's bedroom to him, no matter how many times Yami slept in his slightly rumpled bed, how many times he left an article of his clothing in Seto's closet, or found his missing pens hidden somewhere amidst Seto's desk -- which was in much the same condition as his bed, ordered and arranged in Seto's logic. Yami had his own logic, and much of the time, it clashed with Seto's, which was another reason for keeping his own room even when he didn't need to. It wasn't as if Gozaburo was there, arrogance and the wild countenance of a predator eyeing his prey; nor was Mokuba in the dark about the _relationship _of his big brother and his adopted big brother. Still, the routine held, and neither could be bothered changing it.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same._

Or so the saying went, Yami thought as he tossed his shirt off and landed on Seto's bed, half-naked and feeling oddly sensual. It was the sheets, he decided, after caressing the soft, silky folds of the bed. Seto liked his comforts just as much as the next bad-tempered, emotionally-stunted genius, though Yami didn't need to say it; Seto knew his flaws much better than anyone, and much more intimately than his perfections.

Yami smiled. "Like what you see?"

He didn't need to see to know Seto was there, just outside the door way, staring at him with an amused and hungry intensity. He could feel it on his skin, just like the pleasurable ghosts of Seto's slender, long-fingered hands and the slightly rough nips of Seto's teeth when Seto was feeling particularly dark. Shivering a little, Yami almost missed Seto's snort.

"Don't I always?"

"Are you going to answer all my questions with another question?"

"Don't you think I should?" Seto countered, and a small smile was toyed briefly with on Seto's face.

This was another game, among the many they played, but this one was satisfying in an entirely different way. They played because they wanted to, because they could, because they couldn't resist the challenge; they played this because the ending was the most anticipated part, and because neither lost. Seto wasn't too happy with losing, as he was bound to when Yami was his opponent. Yami didn't know why, didn't know how he always managed to win all the time; no matter the context, the game, he was its king and Seto hated the it intensely. His hate twined with his pride, and sometimes this helped Yami to see above it all, see past Seto's aggressive front and slide slowly into a small, tiny portion of Seto's heart. The rest belonged to Mokuba.

"I don't know...maybe?"

Yami sighed and placed one of his hands strategically on his stomach. It took Seto's attention, focused it on nothing but Yami's slithering body, smooth skin, and the locket attached to his collar, hanging around his neck like some mark of possession. His fingers lightly dusted his skin, sending goose bumps running along, while he shifted his hips, parted his legs and all but invited Seto to come forward and stay. It would be much better if he was naked and there was no barrier between him and the silk sheets, Yami thought as he sighed.

"Perhaps," Seto murmured and then walked towards Yami until he was beside the bed, within touching range. A hand reached out and slid into multi-coloured hair, and Yami tilted his head, baring his neck; he looked at Seto through half-lidded red eyes and licked his lips just once, almost like an afterthought, but they both knew better than that. He watched Seto shiver, grow taut and let out a silent, heavy breath.

Yami waited for Seto to decide. He knew Seto had ulterior motives for ending their game so quickly and he wanted to know why, but not right now; not when they were both hard and wanting and hungry for something primal. He licked his lips again, this time not bothering to hide his teasing smirk and wondered if Seto wanted his mouth first before his body. Maybe both, he thought, as he was tugged up to a willingly crawl on his hands and knees and with his face looking up into hot blue eyes. Yami never took his own eyes, dark with desire, away as he moved forward painstakingly close to Seto's hips. Seto watched Yami move, watched his every move, watched as he reached for his belt, pulling it free with a slow tug, and unzipped Seto's pants, fingers brushing Seto almost teasingly. Before he could do anything else, the hand still clutching his hair pulled him away and back onto the bed as Seto followed suit leisurely. Yami watched Seto throw off his trench coat, unbutton his shirt and crawl on top of him with a shiver of barely concealed anticipation.

He arched up at the contact; it was _much_ better than the sheets, much silkier, warmer, hotter, and Yami wanted more skin-to-skin contact, more touching, _more_. But if he wanted more, then Seto had to give him more because this was Seto and Seto liked making him want and pant and demand. Seto pressed both his wrists down onto the bed, effectively trapping him and kissed the twin pink lines etched along both his arms tenderly, gently as if Yami would break apart in pieces if he didn't, and slid in between Yami's legs.

Yami breathed a little harder and thrust out his hips, needing contact, but not getting it because even though Seto couldn't hurt Yami, he liked to watch Yami squirm.

"Well?" he said huskily, caging in his impatience and turning his body pliant. There were more ways than one to get what he wanted, and Seto Kaiba always had a weakness for his body.

Seto said nothing, but his eyes gave it all away. He was looking down at Yami, hand leaving Yami's hair as he traced Yami's flushed cheeks, parted lips that had suckled one finger and the locket that hung quietly around Yami's neck. Seto gazed at the locket for a while before his hand went back to its journey downwards, and around, and inside.

"More," Yami moaned as his hips moved up again, and he only stopped saying that when Seto was buried deep inside in one aching thrust, when Seto had finished his teasing and Yami was more than ready, and they were moving in a demanding, ravenous rhythm. Need and want mixed together, groans of pleasure melted into one and Yami only gasped out Seto's name when he climaxed and felt Seto's mouth on his, crying out his own pleasure into Yami because this was the only way, and because he gave Yami everything in this. Soft kisses were returned and he comforted a shuddering Seto, who had more demons than he cared for, and who hated his weaknesses too much to care.

* * *

**Sweetbriar:** Thanks for the correction. I'm glad you're enjoying my Seto/Yami fics.

**Amarin Rose** Heh. It was the fact that it was such an interesting idea that I couldn't leave it alone as just a snippet. I must have been a psychic in a past life or something -- as soon as I read your review to _Laid Bare_, I couldn't stop grinning since this chapter was going to up the rating. So, in a way, my answer's yes. I'll check to see if there's anymore fun S/Y ficlets waiting to pop out. XD

**halowing4**: Glad you're enjoying it. ; I'm sorta interested in seeing what I come up with too, since I'm still trying to improve on my WIP writing.


	3. falling pieces

**Disclaimer:** Same as previous. Don't own, so don't sue.

**A/N:** Well, the plots are sort of converging at the moment. I've introduced nearly all the secondary characters... Now I'm just waiting for them to introduce themselves to each other. Ryou and Bakura are obviously two different names for two different people. There are no yamis or hikaris for the purposes of this story.

Also, thanks to **Kyna**and **Moe** for the beta.

Completed: 18/12/04

* * *

**falling**** pieces **

_"__What are you doing?" Yami asked curiously, a tad amused because he had never seen Seto study so much for so long and for so much. There'd been times when Seto had thrown himself into anything that caught his interest, nearly ignoring everything else in his determination to explore, but they usually didn't last long. After he'd conquered what he'd set out to do, he had no interest anymore. _

_"__None of your business," Seto said dismissively. He didn't even look up, his mind still focused within the pages of a thick, hardcover._

_Yami__ shrugged, even though Seto couldn't see it, and settled down on Seto's bed. Of course, he should just do as the other wanted and leave Seto to his reading, but when was Yami so accommodating? Never, was the answer that Seto knew by heart. Never, was pretty much the only answer when it came to Seto, Yami admitted to himself. Just because Seto said so didn't mean that Seto didn't need it, and Yami found to his own amused disbelief that he was meddling with things he was told not to. He didn't stop though. And he was certain Seto wouldn't chase him away. After their first chess match, Seto hadn't even tried again, instead spending the rest of their time together wanting to play rematch after rematch. To no avail, of course, and Yami was going to keep it that way. He had to. His only worth to Seto was his value as an opponent. _

_The books splayed on top of Seto's compact desk were all about chess. Chess, and a specific person, Yami thought as he eyed newspapers and magazines that looked out of place with Seto's other odds and ends. It was interesting and intriguing and Yami couldn't help his curiosity. Who was, Yami squinted and leaned forward, this Gozaburo Kaiba?_

-

"That went well," Seto said sarcastically and glared at the exit his five board members had just gone through. "Really well, in fact."

"Better than it would have," Yami corrected, crossing his arms and giving Seto a narrow-eyed look. "They may be useful yet."

"Useful?" Seto snorted. "They're use_less_. For years they've tried to please Gozaburo, not making a single move because they were afraid and stupid. Then we come along and suddenly, they were our allies. Of course, they couldn't be our allies on surface. And of course they couldn't help us while Gozaburo could be suspicious. No, they were just on our side while we had the shares, and they did nothing to help."

"But they did help."

"When it looked like we were _winning_."

"But they did — they could still be useful. We'll get rid of them after."

Seto studied Yami carefully, lightly assessing, before he gave in with a surly nod. "I'd rather take care of them now."

"You'd rather cut them off and let them fester, you mean." Yami smiled wryly. "It will be much worse if that happened."

"Maybe," Seto allowed and sighed. "They've served their roles. I'm done with them."

Now, it was Yami's turn to study Seto; what he found, he kept to himself.

"I'll deal with them when the time comes," he said glibly, deciding to leave the unspoken words alone and let Seto sort them out in his own time. He didn't know whether this offer of help was going to be rejected, but Seto was unpredictable at most times and entirely too predictable at others.

"We'll deal with them together," Seto countered, turning away from Yami, and unable to do anything but. Weaknesses, he allowed, he had only two so far, but he didn't want to give away too much, too soon. Quite possibly never at all if he had his way, though, at the moment it didn't do him much good. Yami could read him like a book.

He loved it.

He resented it.

Yami never let him resent it for anything less than a brief, dark moment.

"Of course. Maybe we should look at what Mokuba prepared for us." Yami changed the subject, letting the tension abate.

Seto breathed a little too deeply and nodded slowly. "I wonder which one he chose."

"Wouldn't matter. It's not like we can say no." Yami snorted in amusement. "Or should I say that _you_ can't say no. I do have a fair bit of resistance left in me."

"If by a fair bit of resistance you mean next to none, then I agree."

But Seto picked up the folder and flicked through it anyway.

"Domino High?" he read. "At least it's close to Mokuba's own school."

"Then I guess you approve," Yami said dryly. "I'm sure Mokuba will jump for joy."

-

_"__Seto__?"_

_Seto__ blinked wearily and looked up at the hesitant face of his little brother, who was looking at him with plaintive confusion. "Yes, Mokuba."_

_"__What are you doing?" he said softly, biting his lip instinctively. _

_"__What do mean?" Seto tried to play dumb, as if it was ever successful with his precocious sibling, but he needed to stall for time — just enough so that he could __think. _

_Mokuba__ frowned. "I mean this. Here." He gestured around Seto. "You're always in here, and you never want to play with me anymore. And you keep on saying 'Later Mokuba. Later'. But it's already later and you're still — __here. I know you're also getting Yami to distract me. I know." _

_Mokuba__ took a deep breath before saying something that nearly tore Seto's heart into little pieces. "Are you mad at me?" _

_Large dark eyes looked at him with uncertainty. With hurt, confusion and pain, and no small amount of insecurity. Seto lashed at himself inwardly. _

_"__No!" He shook his head adamantly. "Never." _

_He went to Mokuba and hugged him — hard. "Don't ever think that. I mean it, Mokuba. Don't ever think that because it's not true — won't __ever be true. I will never be mad at you, okay?" _

_Mokuba__ still looked uncertain. "Are you sure?" _

_Seto__ felt like he had somehow failed in the worst way possible — all this time, he had tried so hard to succeed, to win — and it didn't amount to much. What came of it other than Mokuba's insecurity and fear? To him, he had failed already without even trying. He took a deep breath, tightly containing his anger because at this rate, Mokuba would misunderstand and think he was angry at him, when in fact, Seto was trying his best to not lash at himself. He could do that later; right now, he had to make sure Mokuba understood his position in his life._

_"__I'm very sure, Mokuba. I don't know why you would think I'm mad at you, but listen, I will __never be angry with you, okay? This — this is just a means to an end. Remember how I said I was going to get us a better place to live?"_

_Mokuba__ nodded, face pressed against Seto's chest. "Well, I think I'm close to getting it."_

_"__You sure, Seto?"__ Mokuba asked hesitatingly. _

_"__Yeah, " he said softly, one hand lightly running through Mokuba's long mane. "Yeah, I'm sure."_

-

Marik strapped his seatbelt on, ignoring the friendly, bright voice of the flight attendant and looked out of the plane. He had pleaded with Ishizu for the window seat when they had gotten their tickets, and like most doting older sisters, she had given in without much of a fight; Odeon had smiled and then taken the seat closest to the aisle, both guard and brother while Ishizu had taken the middle. This would be the first time either one of them had gone anywhere out of Egypt, much less anywhere so _far_ away. Marik wasn't sure whether to be nervous or excited or both. He decided both, since he had wanted to travel for as long as he remembered; the underground tomb they called home had been stifling — dark and dank and so unbearable that he had fought every single day he'd woken up in. He had fought against the raging demons in his own mind, had clamped hands so tight around his head that nail marks and bruises marred tanned flesh.

He remembered the coolness of Odeon's soothing hands as he smeared ointment on his bruises, and then wrapped bandages over around his torso, particularly gentle with his back. That had soothed his demons more than anything, and he had rested, yearning for things he shouldn't, but couldn't — didn't want to stop. As a dutiful son, fulfilling his destiny, he had no right to want more.

In the end though, he found that his wish had a price. His father's death, sudden and abrupt as it was, had changed their lives in a matter of minutes. The Pharaoh's return had been signalled, and now their roles had become clear. This was what their father said, just as the light faded from his eyes, and he fell, dark grey robes lining the stone floor.

They would leave Egypt and show the Pharaoh His past, His future, and His destiny.

Marik, if he was honest with himself, didn't give a damn about the Pharaoh. All his life, he had been told that he would serve the Pharaoh, give him this mysterious message that would link him to his past and show him the way to the future. All his life, he had been locked up in that— that _tomb— _awaiting for some nameless lord who would come in three thousand years time. All his life, he had been thrust into a world where he was a nameless servant. And for what cause? So that they could spend the remainder of their lives under the rule of another dictator?

He didn't want another. He had already spent one year too many holding onto ancient rules that were obsolete in this day and time; he would not spend another more.

He loved and hated and feared his father, but in the end, he was still his father even though Marik was under no illusions about the nature of his father's heart.

"We are ready for take off. Thank you for listening, and if you have need for any assistance, we will be with you shortly."

The flight attendant flashed a smile. Marik took no notice; he was too busy staring out of the window.

-

Bakura stared at the alarm clock with something akin to hatred. He never understood the need for school at this early in the morning and had never tried to; he was required to go and that was that. It didn't help that Bakura would rather break the law than go, but his twin brother Ryou had somehow managed to convince him he needed to. Or something. Bakura didn't care; he only went because he knew Ryou all too well. He snorted. His brother didn't know the meaning of taken advantage of — not like Bakura did anyway. So it was pretty much his job to scare away all the students who thought they could take advantage of Ryou. Of course, it wasn't as if it was chore or anything; Bakura had a talent for intimidation, and he knew it from the first time he pushed over that bully in pre-school to a fortnight ago when he roughed up two morons who had dared to 'ask' him for his lunch money. They weren't going to do that again any time soon, Bakura thought smugly.

"Bakura, wake up." Ryou tried to pull his blanket off, but Bakura held on tightly.

"No. Leave me a alone," he tried to growl from under the blanket.

"This is our first day at Domino High," Ryou said patiently, as if he did this every single day. Which he did, with several variations since Bakura made sure to cling to his mattress until the very last minute. There was no point in going early, and Bakura usually just ended up bored there, with no students to torment so he decided they should just get there right when the bell rang. Sometimes later, if Bakura could help it.

"And if you don't get up," Ryou continued, "I will personally throw away all your clothes."

Bakura narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"I would." Ryou smiled, very sincere.

"Fine," he grumbled.

Bakura let the blanket fall, and Ryou smugly grabbed his hand, tugging him up in one pull. He pushed and prodded Bakura until he finally snarled and grunted off to the bathroom, grumbling all the way about annoying _younger_ brothers and their incessant _nagging_. Ryou just had to be the good twin, Bakura thought irritatingly. And in doing so, he just had to drag Bakura onto his side. He thought-grumbled his way through taking his clothes off, through putting away his Ring aside, and finally through taking a shower. He got back out feeling less sleepy and annoyed, but Ryou didn't need to know that, and went to their kitchen table in his usual blue shirt and trousers, Ring around his neck, where breakfast was set every morning. Bakura never did any of the chores if he could help it, but sometimes it irked him no end to see his twin doing everything around the house. It wasn't his fault that they were by themselves. It wasn't his fault their father needed to wander around the world, trying to forget what he never could. And it certainly wasn't his fault that Ryou had no one else other than him. But he still didn't like it, so he'd picked up after himself and sometimes even cooked; though, he only did that when Ryou was exhausted since his cooking tended towards simple and basic, and sometimes tasteless.

He guessed he was capable of something other than malice after all. Not that he liked that thought any more than he liked the thought of waking up.

Grumbling underneath his breath, he quickly slathered some butter onto his toast and took several large bites. Ryou, the ever punctual one, had already eaten his and was now sitting opposite Bakura, staring at him as he finished.

"Stop looking at me," Bakura muttered sourly as he chewed.

Ryou just stared at him calmly.

Bakura finished off the last bits of his breakfast and drank his milk uneasily. "Fine, I'm sorry for not waking up. Are you happy now?"

No response. Ryou stared some more.

"Oh, for crying out loud — I'm sorry. I'm sorry we're not going to be at school early. I'm sorry I do this every single day at every single school we go to. There. Now would you stop _looking_ at me?" he growled.

"I accept your apology, even though I know you will never change," Ryou said, smiling. He stood up. "Are you finished?" He looked pointedly at his watch.

Bakura could feel a snarl waiting to be unleashed. He glared at Ryou sourly for one last time, and then he went to put his plate and cup away, grumbling under his breath all the while. His twin knew just how to get at him; there was no doubt about _that. _And Bakura usually let him, even though he ended being irritated throughout the day and taking it out on any who crossed his path.

He grumbled even as they left their apartment, Ryou being fastidious with locking and checking they had everything they needed for their first day at Domino High School. Bakura suffered it with his arms crossed and a miserable glare on his face; he was beginning to think his face was going to have either a permanent glare or smirk etched on.

Which, wasn't all that bad, he thought when they had arrived. Already the more cautious students were staying away from him in an instinctive need for safety. Bakura almost smiled. That was one of the few pleasures he derived from the education system; he didn't really give a damn about anything else, though Ryou, the annoying twin, made sure he was passing all his classes.

As soon as they entered the halls, Ryou began searching through their schedule, indicating to Bakura which classes were his and which weren't. They pretty much had the exact same classes together except for Biology, which Bakura couldn't be bothered with and which Ryou really wanted to do, so Bakura decided to take both Classical Studies and History. He didn't care much for either though he'd reluctantly mentioned to Ryou once that he did like Classics. He wasn't sure why, but he found it interesting at times; he attributed it to the fact that their father was an archaeologist, and the hundreds of souvenirs they'd accumulated over the years —including the Ring hanging around his neck at the moment — must have had some invisible effect on him.

"There's our first class," Ryou announced, tugging him. "History."

Bakura was about to make some sarcastic remark about co-dependency when he felt a heated flush on his chest. Quickly, he splayed a hand over the area to search, before he realised it wasn't _him_ that was the problem. It was the Ring. A trickle of trepidation ran down his spine, but he was more curious and excited than wary. There was something familiar about this—the movement of the Ring, the sensation of a sharp _pang_ curling around his mind. It was almost as if electricity was making its way through his body from the Ring, snaking out of his fingertips to point in one direction. The only direction.

If Ryou was surprised at his sudden speedy strides towards their first class, he made no visible indication. Even if he had, Bakura wasn't sure he would notice, so caught up in the spark of sensation that demanded he enter _now_. There was something vastly important there, awaiting to be taken if Bakura just _knew_. And Bakura wanted to know. He had to.

* * *

**  
Amarin**** Rose**: Heh. Very true. They have a rather...complicated relationship...one I'm hoping will improve too, given the events that will take place soon. 

**Blue September**: Ah, thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying this piece as well... and well, here's an update. (smiles).

**Demon: **Thank you! I can't believe you can reread this and still enjoy it as much. (smiles). I will try to keep the characterisations as consistent as possible... Writing is a lot of fun when you have time so you should give it a try. You never know...

**Niffe24**: Yep. Definitely. Everything's going to come together...but not all at once. ;


	4. a recognition of sorts

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything of YuGiOh.

**A/N**: Another update… I'm very surprised myself. Here's the next instalment with an abundance of flashbacks.

A thank you to **mic** for the beta.

_Completed: _**18/02/05  
**

* * *

**a recognition of sorts **

Bakura entered the room, blue eyes skimming over the desks as instinct told him what he had been waiting for was here, not that far out of his reach. The heat from the Ring _burned, _torching his chest with a need so great, he was hard put to stop looking. He knew Ryou was getting annoyed now. He was standing still in the middle of the room, not doing a damn thing while nameless, blurry students walked past them to get in their seats. Bakura ignored them all. He was focused on one thing only—and that was the eerie sense of almost recognition. He eyed the students present, mentally ticking them off when his senses told him they were nothing but non-important entities. Ryou was very annoyed now, and he showed it by tugging him towards a couple of empty seats. Bakura knew he was going to be scolded later on, but he didn't care. He let Ryou pull him down onto a hard, uncomfortable chair, even as his eyes wandered.

_There—just there—_

_Scorching heat beating on his head, a pained line on his cheek; he raised his arm to ward off the sun, but he couldn't move—couldn't see—there was something there—he needed, no, he couldn't—but he had to, he had to—_

He blinked and took a shaky breath, eyes boring at the spiky-haired boy sitting three desks away, happily laughing with a smiling brunette and a confused looking blond. He focused on the glint of a pyramid-shaped ornament hanging around the boy's neck. _Yes_, his senses sang. That was what he'd been searching for—that was what he'd been _missing_ all his life. Everything was connected to that boy.

His Ring...

His Ring.

He didn't need to look down to know that his Ring was moving, was pointing straight at the boy. At the neck ornament. _The Puzzle_, his mind whispered, telling him secrets he never knew, saying words as familiar as his hands.

The Puzzle.

He wanted it. He knew it was special, much like his Ring was, but he didn't know why. He was missing a lot. He was missing _everything_, but no matter what he did, he just couldn't figure out _why_. His senses told him the Puzzle was the answer; he would find all he needed once the he'd gained hold of it. And that was what he vowed to do. He stared at the boy with the unusual hair colour for one last time before he turned to the front, waiting for their teacher to arrive. He had time. There was no rush. There was no rush, he repeated silently, stifling the urge to take the Puzzle right then and there. His hands tightened into fists before being forced into a relaxed curl. There was time.

——

"I'm sorry for the delay; we just had a clash with one of your classes, and the system was down last night so we couldn't fix it until now." Their principal, a middle-aged, plump man with sweaty palms, tried to smile but couldn't. Seto wasn't giving an inch and was staring at the principal coolly.

Yami stifled an amused smile and decided that he should probably take over. Usually Seto had the patience to deal and interact with people he would have dismissed easily (_Yes, I can be polite, I just don't do it often; now stop laughing before I wipe that grin off your face by firing someone_), but today, he was on edge; Yami had teased him during breakfast about the first day of school, trying to distract and reassure Seto at the same time. It had worked, but not as well as it should, as Yami had predicted. Mokuba had seen it too, and both of them had shared a look before subtly easing Seto's nervousness. Seto hadn't been visibly nervous; his expression remained calm and collected, and he had read today's papers with equilibrium, but both Mokuba and Yami had seen the tight clench of his jaw and the mechanical and tense way he drank his coffee. Seto had also deliberately not looked at his watch even once. Though Yami would have liked nothing more than to address Seto's issues, he knew better. Subtle and sly worked where as direct and blunt ended in Seto denying what was in front of his face.

As it were, they had made to their separate schools without any further tension. Seto had absolutely refused to acknowledge the fact that Mokuba was going to be away from them today. Yami had sighed, telling Mokuba goodbye and informing him on the varied problems that might arise and intensely emphasising on how to contact them, which Mokuba already knew, but was kind enough not to roll his eyes at Yami for the lecture; he'd known how much of a big deal today was. This was the first time Mokuba was going to be separated from them for so long, and Yami would be lying if he said he didn't have his own nervousness and doubts to bear. He just made certain it was hidden very well. Seto provided enough tension already without adding his own baggage to the mix. He had then nudged Seto into his own reluctant goodbye, and before he knew it, they were in Domino High School.

Both of them had been dropped off a few metres away from the gate, the driver given clear instructions on when to come back. As soon as they were on their way through the gate, Yami noticed the stares aimed at their way. He looked back steadily, a flicker of amusement teasing in his red eyes (which might have explained the stares), and wondered if Seto would glare his way through the crowd. He moved closer to Seto, gently bumping his shoulder against Seto's arm, and he could feel Seto relax slightly. He didn't need to look down to see Seto's hands unclench, nor did he need to look into Seto's face to see the slight twitch of his lips.

It was just as well since there had been scheduling delays for their classes, an error Seto had no patience for whether it was for their own or someone else's employees. Yami took over smoothly and talked enough for both of them.

"That is quite all right, Mr Kendel," Yami cut in on what might have appeared to be more apologies.

KaibaCorp had donated generously to the new Information and Technology block that was being renovated as an incentive for the school board and principal in accepting their applications despite the lack of previous institutional schooling. After all, testing would only show that the home-schooled and private tutoring provided by Gozaburo had been more than adequate, and it was only in their best interests for the two to go to Domino High. Gozaburo might have made their lives a living hell, but he understood the advantage of gained knowledge, and Yami had no doubt they wouldn't be failing any of their classes. They were only going to regain some normalcy in their lives, not to be educated in—what they thought of as—an unrealistic way. It was the least they could have done; Mokuba was still young, still a child, and Seto had promised a long time ago to provide what Mokuba would need. Yami had taken that promise for his own and he had never regretted it.

"Will we get a note excusing our lateness?" Yami asked politely. Seto remained stoically silent, in no mood to play nice, so to speak.

"Of course, of course," Principal Kendel said, smiling nervously. "Here are your schedules; you are in the same classes as you have requested. I will be here if you have any questions," he trailed off and then said weakly, "Welcome to Domino High School."

Yami smiled and thanked him, one hand moving to take their printouts while the other reached for the hastily scribbled note. Seto eyed Principal Kendel for a moment longer and then he stood up, ready to leave. With a friendly nod, Yami stood up as well and walked out of the principal's office, just half a step behind Seto's long strides.

——

"_I think you should rest more," Yami announced, arms crossed as he took in the messy room. It wasn't the normal kind of mess—the kind that sprawled around in chaotic, directionless places and accumulated into random piles—no, for Seto, he was so far above _normal_ and _ordinary_ that he was a level to himself. This was why Yami had decided to interfere before Seto became too obsessive._

_The chess books, along with the newspaper and magazine articles Yami had only caught a glimpse of once, had increased by twofold; the name Kaiba was on every single medium at least twice. Seto, who had been merely focussed before, was fixated now, and Yami still couldn't figure out why. Mokuba wasn't talking either, which made the exclusion hurt just a bit more than it should. He shouldn't have even felt it—he'd always prided himself on maintaining enough of a distance so that it wouldn't have mattered anyway in the long run—but obviously, something had gone awry in his plans. Something had pried his self-imposed, protective walls down, and was even now tugging away the pieces bit by bit. _

_He glared at Seto. "Listen, I said you should rest."_

"_So?" Seto didn't look up from his book. _

"So_," Yami emphasised, "you should do as I say."_

_Yami scowled when Seto only snorted and walked over to Seto's cluttered desk. He leaned over, eyeing the crisp pages that were being turned neatly by its owner._

"_I don't have to do anything," Seto said stiffly._

_There was silence as Seto ignored the obvious presence over his shoulder and Yami studied the silent, unyielding form in front of him. They were at a stalemate that wouldn't end, and neither wanted to end it willingly. _

_Then, Yami said softly, "Seto, who is Gozaburo Kaiba?" _

_He watched as Seto's shoulders instantly tensed, and he knew Seto's knuckles would be clenched into pale, white fists, a telling sign of what he couldn't say._

"_Perhaps I should rephrase that. What are your plans regarding Gozaburo Kaiba?" Yami asked calmly, poised except for the tightness around his mouth. There were many ways this could go. _

"_My plans…" Seto paused. He didn't turn around. "My plans don't involve you."_

"_Then maybe they should." Yami could feel himself tensing, hurting, a sting that shouldn't have ever reached him._

"_I don't think so," Seto said without rancour, almost uncertainly as he turned another page._

_Yami was suddenly angry. He had allowed so many—Yami cut himself off in mid thought. He had foolishly assumed they were friends, friends in a way Yami hadn't wanted to be in a long, long time, and Seto didn't even care. Seto had just shut himself off just like a light switch, leaving Yami to flounder in the dark, and Yami wasn't going to let him do it. He was going to find his way in with or without that damn light switch._

"_A game," he said with anger and challenge. "Chess. I win, you tell me this plan. You win, I won't come here again."_

"_No," Seto said._

"_What? You don't think you'll win?" Yami taunted, fury and rage blending in with his voice. "Or," he drawled out, "Are you afraid that you _will_?"_

_Seto finally turned around, blue eyes flashing his anger. For a second, Yami thought Seto would say no, but then Seto turned hesitant, uncertainty releasing the tension flowing through his body. _

_Several seconds later, he said, "Let's play." _

_Yami said nothing as he took out the chess set, only managing to stop his hand from shaking at the last minute._

——

He blinked and started at the hand lightly touching his back.

"I—it was nothing," he said to Seto, who was frowning now.

"It didn't look like nothing."

"I was just out of it for a second…" Yami hesitated. "It was nothing. It was nothing," he repeated.

Seto remained unconvinced and from the dark look clouding his face, Yami knew there would be more questions later. He sighed and pressed closer to the hand still curving protectively on his back.

"We have class."

"We can leave."

Yami stopped, permitting himself a second to think on the idea before he shook his head. "We have class."

Instinctively, he leaned into Seto's half-hug and sighed. "I'm really fine."

"If you're sure," Seto said, leaning closer as well for just a second. Then, they pulled away from each other.

"I'm sure." Yami even managed to hold onto a small smile, and Seto nodded reluctantly.

"History awaits," Yami said, and prepared to enter classroom _11B_.

——

"_Checkmate," Yami said quietly. _

_The air was thick with tension, with expectancy, only now thinning into resignation. The game had gone on for an hour at least. There had been little conversation in between moves, the serious nature of this game overriding their general challenging camaraderie in others, and both hadn't wanted to say anything until their fates were decided._

_Checkmate. _

_The word conveyed a whole range of possibilities Seto wasn't sure he wanted to deal with, because he had never considered them before. He had plans. He'd been engrossed in them to the tiniest details, to the smallest errors, and now Yami had scattered them away like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He didn't know how to put them back in the right order. He didn't know what to do. _

_He didn't know what to do._

"_Seto." Yami reached for him, but Seto pulled back quickly. _

"_You won," he said, voice low._

"_Yeah, I won," Yami said softly._

"_I'll tell you everything on one condition." Seto looked at him intensely and with an unexpected desperation that was barely hidden._

"_You can't do that. We already agreed to the rules!" Yami said with frustration. _

"_This or nothing," he threatened, and locked stares._

"_This or nothing?" _

"_This or nothing. You know I wouldn't—wouldn't—otherwise."_

_Looking for reassurance, Yami didn't break their stare. He looked, truly _looked_, at Seto—with no residue anger or confused concern—and said softly, "All right."_

"_All right," Seto repeated. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, "Promise—_promise_—me something. Don't agree to it and change your mind later. You can't break this promise, understand?"_

_Yami nodded and said, "I don't break my promises, Seto."_

_Seto smiled darkly. "Words aren't worth much. Everyone has their breaking point." _

"_Including you?"_

"_Yes," Seto said, with simple conviction, and Yami stared. _

"_I promise, what ever it is, I will keep it. I will keep it until I'm done." He kept staring straight into Seto's blue eyes, trying to make Seto see and feel and _trust_. "I will not break." _

_Seto was silent for a moment. Then, he said quietly, "If I lose, I want you to take over for me."_

"_I will," Yami promised, holding his breath, his heart beating like wild, pounding drums. _

_Seto stood still for a moment longer, and then he turned away. He came back with a newspaper clipping and held it for Yami to take._

"_This is Gozaburo Kaiba, and I have a proposal for him." _

——

Yami entered the classroom as a sense of familiarity, and then a twinge of foreboding, crept along his spine like the legs of a tarantula. He shivered and bit his lip, not realising the teacher—a young blonde with a friendly smile—was waiting for them to speak. Seto had his hand discreetly on Yami's back again and took over the introductions with barely a pause. Yami was grateful, because at that moment, he couldn't say a word.

**

* * *

shadows of chaos61: **Heh. I'm not sure how I came up with the plot, but I remember thinking that I wanted to see how Kaiba and Yami would react if they were raised in a similar environment and with similar goals...

**Psyche: **Oh, I'm interested to see what Marik and Bakura are going to do as well. I'm sure they're up to no good — in fact, I _know_ they're up to no good. Lol. Unfortunately, having a plan in mind doesn't mean I write faster. (winces)

**mellinde: **Ha. I will...just not frequently... I wish I could write fanfics all the time though.

**Blue September: **Heh, heh. You know, I never thought of it like that — maybe because I had an outline in mind — but now that you've mentioned it, the first two chapters do read like more of a journey fic than a plot fic.

**Kawaii Chibi Yami:** Marik will definitely feature as a part of the plot, and Bakura, well; he's still out of the loop so far, but only until he decides not to be. I think that by writing Bakura and Ryou as twins, I've now got a slight fondness for their sibling banter. It's quite fun!

**light of the blue rose:** Glad you're enjoying the story so far! I don't know how long it'll take for this to end (I never do with my fics!) but I'm thinking it won't be an epic. At least, I hope not, because that would take me years to finish at the rate I'm going. Yikes. However, I do think I'm a bit away from finishing. Thanks for the comments!

**halowing4: **I can't wait until Seto and Yami meet the rest of the cast as well. It hasn't happened in this chapter...but in the next, well...


	5. reflective of you

**Disclaimer: **Same as previous. I don't own Yugioh or any of its characters/games/cards etc. Please leave me to my obsessive Kaiba/Yami tendencies.

**A/N: **Right. So, uh, after around four to five months of not updating… I have an update here right now. It's longer than the other chapters so hopefully that might make up for the neglect. -g- But it's not my fault! I swear! RL literally kicked my butt, and I just didn't have time, so a big thanks to everyone for bearing with me.

As per usual, thanks to **Moe **for the beta. Response to feedback is at the bottom since I've found the lj thing problematic in practice.

Completed: 1/7/05

* * *

**  
reflective of you**

Joey knew he wasn't the most graceful guy in school (or even remotely the next), but he still hadn't expected to fall on his back, a large smacking sound reaching his ears at about the same time as when he nearly blacked out. Like he expected, the surprised eyes of his fellow students stared at him with a mixture of concern, annoyance, and fond exasperation. Joey sheepishly got up, only just slightly flustered, and put his chair back into an upright position before he sat on it again. The class sighed as one and then turned back to the new students in front of the classroom. Good old Joey had to average at least one clumsy move daily or he wasn't good old Joey at all.

Which kind of sucked, yeah, but Joey was used to it. It made it that much easier to hide the bruises, so he really couldn't complain.

"Please take a seat!" his teacher said cheerfully. Joey thought she was definitely cute - maybe slightly too old for him though, but hey, he wasn't biased against age - and really nice, except that her forceful cheer could sometimes grate like no other, and Joey was going to stop now because there were other more important things.

Like Yugi's clone-twin-who-ever-the-heck-he-is, for example.

Which brought Joey's mind back to the reason of his ungraceful fall. There were only so many reasons Joey could come up with for this anomaly, but none could feasibly explain the sudden (and he did mean sudden, falling hard on his butt type of surprise notwithstanding) appearance of Seto and Yami Kaiba as students in what Joey had always thought of as a plain high school; and this wasn't even including the fact that one of them could easily pass for Yugi's twin if not for Yugi himself. It was a mystery, and Joey never liked mysteries. Especially if those mysteries came packaged with an ice-cold brunette who didn't look like he wanted to be here at all.

Joey's hackles raised, and he could feel a glare forming. That guy - Kaiba, one part of his mind, the part that hadn't been sleeping, informed him - was an asshole. A jerk. And Joey knew everything about assholes and jerks and dangerous young men who thought they were immortal or didn't care if they weren't.

He narrowed his eyes and glared. Yeah, he knew all about them. He had been one of them before after all.

* * *

Seto hadn't liked the idea of this when he had first heard it, and nor did he like it anymore now. He liked it even less, in fact.

He could admit that wanting some normality in their lives was considered _a good thing_. He was, if nothing, very adamant about Mokuba growing up with everything he needed, and in Seto's mind, normality after the turbulence of their pasts seemed sound, seemed somehow right even. What he had never thought of was the sudden twist their lives seemed to be taking a turn for. Seto would have thought he'd be the one to stifle under the constraints of being just a student, of being under the control and power of a higher authority; he, in a million years, never would have expected Yami to fall first.

To be fair though, Yami hadn't known he would meet a copy of himself today. Hell, he hadn't thought such a thing was possible, but unfortunately, the student with the violet eyes and the spiky hair - streaks of blonde and purple - proved it to be real. It had come as a jolt of shock to the system, an unpleasant jolt that unsettled his stomach and made him ache, and Seto still wasn't sure how to react. So, Seto had done what he did best and shelved the shock and surprise into a tiny corner of his mind while he went on autopilot, nodding seriously at their new teacher - a Ms Aishling or something similar - and gently leading Yami to their assigned seats. If the hand he kept on the small of Yami's back was more possessive than usual, then Seto just attributed it to the tension rolling around his shoulders and the tight knot in his throat.

Nothing was wrong and nothing was going to _be _wrong. They - Yami and Seto both - were going to figure out this little mystery and put their lives back on their planned route; never mind the student who looked to be Yami's true flesh and blood was sitting only two seats away from them, watching them (_Yami_ especially, Seto thought, his hands clenching under his desk) with idle curiosity. Or, to be more precise, more than idle curiosity. Seto had no doubt that as soon as class was finished, be it after their first class or after a succession of classes up to their breaks, the Yami look-alike would come up to them and force them onto a path they weren't ready to take. He wasn't sure how, but the uneasiness of his instincts were telling him - and telling him loudly - to be prepared for the worst. He hadn't been prepared back then when he had started on his plan. He hadn't been prepared for Gozaburo and it had nearly killed him - killed _them_ - and Seto knew well enough to never repeat his mistakes. At least Gozaburo had taught him that much.

He settled back into his seat, and gradually unclenched his hands. His eyes turned to Yami, who was avidly not looking into the direction of their unknown variable, and Seto finally relaxed. Sometimes, Seto was too caught up in his own volatile emotions to recognise Yami's; maybe it was because Yami was rarely expressive in ways that counted, maybe it was because Seto had some idea in his head that Yami was strong enough to overcome anything. He wasn't sure which it was, but he knew that right now, right at that moment, Yami was vulnerable.

Seto narrowed his eyes, one part of his mind vaguely listening to their lesson plan being scrawled in loopy, curling characters on the whiteboard while the other turned to various plans, various course of action needed to be implemented to ensure Yami's vulnerable state never reached high, dangerous levels. The majority of which, most predictably involved keeping Yami as far away from his twin as much as possible, and Seto found that calling the student in question Yam's twin left a distinctively dark taste in his month.

He gritted his teeth and tried to pay attention to the lesson, but somehow, his eyes ended up straying between the clone and Yami. He contemplated on how he should react if there was even so much as a shared glance between the two of them, though in the end, he came to no real conclusion. _Blood is thicker than water_, they say, and Seto would be remiss to deny the truth of the statement. His own relationship with Mokuba proved the validity of that well enough, but having had Yami by his side for so long only to see him taken by some _relative_ - no - some _stranger_ laying a blood claim - it _infuriated_ him like never before.

As if sensing his anger, Seto caught the concerned sideward glance Yami threw at him. Pushing his anger away for another more appropriate time and place, he gave a nod to Yami in reply and hoped that Yami would be satisfied. He didn't think so though, but there wasn't anything Yami could do until class finished. And if Seto stalled enough, then he might even delay the questioning until lunch. Not that it would deter Yami, but Seto could try. He'd spent years trying; it shouldn't be anymore difficult than before.

He looked at their teacher expressionlessly and fought his urge to glance back at the mysterious student. Unfortunately, his thoughts were much more difficult to control.

* * *

_  
"Are you sure?" Yami asked quietly._  
_  
"Of course I'm sure," Seto a__lmost snapped ? almost, but not quite, because Yami didn't quite understand yet, and Seto _had_ to make him understand. It was the only way. The only way Seto could lose was to win something back, no matter how small the victory, and losing only made Seto more aware of his flaws even as he pretended he had none._

_"I'm merely asking," Yami said even more quietly._

_Seto had always hated the way Yami influenced him. One small change in tone, one tiny shift in expression, and Seto reacted in ways he never would have thought. Hating it though, changed nothing and all Seto could do was try and curb his tendency to... be influenced._

_He gave a nod, a concession, temper fleeing only to feel a surge of annoyance. He had given up too easily, as per usual, but there was no stopping it now._

_"I know," Seto said, looking away from eyes that were too knowing, too perceptive for his own benefit. "But you gave your word." He let the challenge hang in the air, only half prepared for what Yami's answer would be._

_"You have my word; don't even try to say otherwise. But that doesn't mean I can't question you."_

_Seto turned and faced Yami again, finding a soft smile lingering on his lips. "You need someone to question you every so often, you know."_

_The tension drained, diffused as quickly as it had arisen, and Seto gave no pause to linger on why he and Yami seemed to always stand between friend and foe, trusted and not; a stalemate between comforting familiarity and the cool strangeness of two people who didn't know each other at all in a way the world counted._

_Seto changed the subject. "Gozaburo Kaiba, CEO of a military affiliated company; wealthy, powerful, and arrogant enough to agree to a challenge of a poor, orphaned kid. At what point does he not sound like the only one to get us out of here?"_

_"The point where he might not like to be...an appropriate father." Yami frowned._

_"It doesn't matter," Seto said quietly, looking down at his hands in contemplation. "I'll take care of it."_

_Yami's frown deepened. "Seto..."_

_"I know, okay. I know." He turned to Yami, a look of resignation, fear, and sheer determination on his face. His blue eyes had darkened from ice-blue to something deadlier, wilder, like the raging tides of an angered sea that battled on and on, unable to stop. "I'll take care of it."_

_"Mokuba - "_

_"I've always taken care of Mokuba," Seto cut him off angrily. "Don't you dare - "_

_" - will you just listen! God, it's not you I'm worried about. It's him!" Yami yelled, infuriated. "You don't know Gozaburo. You don't know what he's going to do or how he's going to treat you and Mokuba, and you sure as hell can't leave once he adopts you. All you know is what he shows to the public - and from what I can see, Seto, you won't get the family you want."_

_Yami was nearly panting; he took a deep breath and continued more softly like a plea lost in a forceful gale. "You won't be giving Mokuba something he needs, Seto, you'll just be giving him another orphanage."_

_Seto flinched before rage and betrayal propelled him forward until he was barely a hand's width from Yami's eyes. "I'll be giving him a home," he hissed. "A home where it'll just be us, a home where we won't have to ration food day to day for those idiots who think that just because they're bigger and stronger, they can pick on a small child. Idiots who think they deserve more than they're worth." He broke off, voice cracking slightly at the end._

_He paused and then continued with more control. "I don't care what Gozaburo does or doesn't do. As long as we're together, we'll be fine. I'll take care of it, I'll take care of Mokuba."_

_Yami shook his head and said, "Seto, it won't turn out well. I know it won't."_

_"Are you breaking your word?"_

_Seto stared steadily at Yami and ignored the adrenaline rushing through his veins, curling around his stomach like solidifying lead._

_"No."_

_A word, just one word, and the world spun in sharper focus. Seto didn't even know he was holding his breath, wasn't even aware he was waiting for Yami to be the exception, but he always was. He always was, the bastard, even when Seto didn't want him to be, because hope was something he gave up the day he had opened the door and stared straight into the sorrowful eyes of strangers wearing plain, navy blue uniforms._

_He felt his chest lighten, the clenching vise around his heart loosening, but he didn't take a step back. Neither did Yami._

_Almost hesitantly, Seto reached out awkwardly with his right hand and said, "You could - you could - "_

_Seto's arm started to drop, the words burning like sulfur in his mouth. Too much. It was too much, and Seto couldn't, couldn't, because Yami might not be the exception this time -- and warm skin enclosed his palm, a finger stroking almost reassuringly on the pad of his thumb like a caress for a hissing, hurt cat._  
_  
And Yami said only one word, just one word, but Seto knew it for the unbreakable promise it was. A promise that wouldn't have been made had Seto not wanted it enough to break his soul._

_"Yeah."_

_Yami held his hand._

_Seto barely moved._

* * *

Seto was surprised at Yami's patience. There had been only a few questioning glances during their class transitions, but that was the extent of it. Seto hadn't even needed to stall for time as he'd assumed, and that, for some inexplicable reason, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He supposed Yami was possibly distracted himself - though Seto refused to dwell on the subject which Yami was most likely distracted by. Thinking about it gave the situation (and the student in question) more merit than it was worth, so Seto trained his thoughts to lie elsewhere. It was much more difficult than Seto had previously considered since they were sharing more than a couple of classes with their mystery student.

It wasn't until their lunch break that Yami finally left his own thoughts and eyed Seto with a familiar determination; it was a look Seto had often been faced with whenever he had tried to hide, and this time was no different.

He wondered how long it would take before Yami figured him out and decided that he didn't want to find out. He had always hated how quickly and easily Yami predicted him.

"Seto," Yami began as soon as they had settled on an empty table in the cafeteria. Just because it was empty didn't mean it was isolated, and Seto had to scowl at the curious faces of several students before they decided minding their own business was a much safer past time.

He shook his head at Yami. _Not here. Not now._

Yami sighed, looking slightly frustrated. "Something's up with you, and I know it will only fester if we don't get this sorted."

"Nothing's up with me." Seto refused to look at Yami. He knew that even a shared glance was enough for Yami to catch on. "It was just a...surprising morning."

Seto took the time to glance up at Yami and regretted it as soon as he saw Yami's expression. He looked as if he had expected this, and something twisted hard inside Seto.

He opened his mouth to hurl painful words, like a cornered snake spitting venom, but he caught sight of Yami's almost-twin and stopped, shutting down coldly.

Yami looked slightly confused and was about to say something, but was interrupted by a nervous and hopeful voice.

"Uh, hi, I'm sorry to butt in like this, and I know you don't know me, and, ah, I'm Yugi Motou by the way, but we share some classes and I just noticed that...you know, we kinda look alike. And," Yugi stopped abruptly, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to ramble; I just, it was shocking. You look like me." He lowered his head and stared down at the ground as a flush reddened his cheeks.

"No, no, it's all right." Yami smiled. "I mean, it is shocking... I never expected," he gestured at Yugi and then at himself, "this for sure."

Yugi looked up again with a relieved smile, and Seto's hands clenched tightly. He said nothing, even though he wanted this to stop _right_ now.

"You can say that again," a shaggy-haired blonde piped up, and Seto turned to glare at him. He disliked the tactlessness of this - this _mongrel _who had interrupted a conversation he had no business in.

Yugi laughed and shrugged shyly. "Yeah, I hope you don't mind, but I'm kind of curious. You know... since we look so much alike, do you think we could be related? I know, it sounds far fetched, but, we're, well, here."

"I - I actually don't know who my biological parents are," Yami admitted, and Seto's eyes widened. Yami was revealing too much and too soon; this was a mistake.

For a second, he wanted nothing more than to take Yami and leave. They could forget about attending school, or leading normal lives because there was nothing normal about _this_.

Then, Yugi said, "I don't know much about my parents; my grandpa pretty much raised me."

And Seto knew it was no use. Yami wouldn't leave that easily without finding answers to his questions, and in this one instance, Seto wasn't entirely confident he could win.

Seto, no matter how he would like to walk out of this conversation, stayed where he was because even if Yami was slowly being pulled away piece by piece, Seto couldn't see himself leaving. And that was the crux of the matter -- Seto would be hurt, and there wasn't anything he could do.

He coldly watched Yami and Yugi speak earnestly at each other, and glared at the group (two brunettes and that annoying blonde), who were hanging onto Yugi's words like an adoring groupie.

He hated it.

He hated them, but he hated feeling helpless much, much more. With tension thrumming tautly within, he watched and gritted his teeth.

* * *

_  
Seto had a plan. _  
_  
His plan was simple enough in theory and should be simple enough in practice if his image of Gozaburo Kaiba held true. Unfortunately, that was also the main weakness of his plan - if Gozaburo Kaiba was not in fact as arrogant as several media publications of him indicated - if he was not, in fact, emotional enough to follow through Seto's challenge... _  
_  
It couldn't bear to be thought on. _  
_  
All this time, all this planning, and all for nothing?_  
_  
He couldn't fail. He had to win._  
_  
So when Gozaburo Kaiba arrived at the orphanage to cast his public image in a more positive, charitable light, Seto stood forward and told him in a loud, clear voice, "I challenge you to a game of chess."_

_Gozaburo laughed. "You, boy? Do you know who I am?"_

_Seto thought, yes, and tried to hide his eagerness. He repeated, "I challenge you," and held his breath._

_"Well, well," Gozaburo said with an arrogant twist to his mouth. "You do know that I'm a grand master chess player, don't you? What makes you think I'll play a scrawny whelp like you?"_

_Seto glared, lifting his chin up defiantly as he said, "If you're so good, then shouldn't you accept my challenge? After all, you'll only _win_ - unless, of course, you're afraid."_

_A feeling of fear curdled around Seto's stomach when Gozaburo narrowed his dark eyes and said nothing. He couldn't fail. He _couldn't._ Gozaburo just had to take the bait, and if it took Seto more than taunting him into making a move, then he would do it. He would do anything._

_Gozaburo barked a hard laugh and Seto could feel the fear dissipate like steam in a cold cave. A cooling sensation combined with the adrenaline still drumming underneath his skin gave Seto a heady feeling, and Seto wondered if he could stand still for much longer._

_"Me? Afraid?" Gozaburo snorted. "You have yourself a challenge, boy, but don't cry when you lose. Name the stakes!"_

_With that, Seto relaxed. This wasn't new, these games of high stakes and rough decisions made that would impact on one's survival. No, this wasn't new at all, and Seto was torn being grateful or resentful of losing his childhood very early on._

_"One game of chess against me and Yami. One of us wins, you adopt both of us and my little brother." He stared at Gozaburo._

_"If you lose?" Gozaburo asked silkily._

_"If both of us lose," Seto faltered slightly before regaining his voice. "If both of us lose, then I will be...punished as you see fit."_

_Gozaburo shifted his gaze. "Who is this Yami?"_

_"I am." Yami walked quietly to the spot next to Seto. He had been in front of the crowd of curious children whom have gathered around at Seto's earlier pronouncement; he'd stood silently while he observed both Gozaburo and Seto's actions and reactions._

_Gozaburo made a dismissive sound. "Not very impressive, boy," he said to Seto. "And you think he has the means to win if you don't?"_

_Seto hissed softly. Gozaburo had predicted his motive with as much accuracy and certainty as if he had read Seto's mind. He fought to push down the instant panic that had erupted._

_"What makes you think I won't?" Yami said coldly, and during that brief pause where Gozaburo's attention had wavered, where Gozaburo's eyes had left Seto's to fully take in what he had just narrowly dismissed before in the slightly smaller form of Yami, Seto had successfully pushed away the panic and composed himself. When Gozaburo turned back to him, Seto was ready. More than ready. If Yami could stand so calmly, so dignified and full of curbed strength, then Seto could as well._

_Gozaburo laughed again; this time, it was biting and sharp, and promised cruel, cruel things. It promised nothing but losses. "I think you have yourself a game, boy. I accept your challenge."_

_Releasing a small breath Seto hadn't been aware he was holding, Seto nodded tightly and prepared himself. He led the way to the set-up on a worn, scratched wooden table and settled himself on a seat. Gozaburo took the other seat across from him and looked down at the chess pieces with bemused narrowed eyes._

_"So certain that I would accept, boy?" There was an edge Seto heard underneath the words; an almost challenge that Seto couldn't leave alone._

_"I play to win," Seto said coolly, and lightly clasped his black pawn beneath his fingertips._

_"So do I, boy. So do I." And with that, Gozaburo made his move.  
_  
We'll see_, Seto thought, and tightened his hold on his knight. _We'll see.

-  
-  
-

-

* * *

**Daja Elle Namte**: Thank you for the kind words! I love writing all these flashbacks… and you can sorta tell. The Seto/Bakura interaction won't be in until Bakura's got himself a plan. And that won't happen until Marik appears, so I hope you don't mind the wait. Maybe the Seto/Yami and Mokuba interaction can hold you off until then? -g- 

**Dragon**: Hah! So all this poking and prodding is for my own good? lol. Well, I have the next chapter outlined...so... I'm still surprised you spent such a long time with this story in your mind!

**Blue September**: Thanks! And yeah, no internet sucks. I feel your pain. I've got Chapter 6 outlined so far, but depending on whether I write that or Irksome Nature... I don't know when I'll update. The flashbacks are extremely fun to write; I try to leave as many options open as possible so that I can build them up later on. Of course, I'll have to make a finite decision later...but I can live. -g-

**Black Joey**: Ah, I'm actually revealing what happened bit by bit. Yami did begin off as Mokuba's friend -- but then he squirmed his way into Seto's circle (of one, Mokuba, now two). From there on, Yami made himself part of Seto's plan to get himself and Mokuba adopted by Gozaburo Kaiba. And yep, they all met in the orphanage.

**Shaded Rogue**: Thank you. Hope you enjoy this chapter.  
**  
mellinde**: Ah, it might appear that I'm dead, but really, I'm just smothered by RL. Thanks for your patience!

**Pysche**: Thanks for commenting. -g- You're absolutely right in that Bakura never learns. And he's probably never going to... all right. Maybe he'll learn later. Maybe. Marik is actually kind of a wild card. I'm going to have to decide later which side he's on. Fun times ahead. -g-


	6. old conflicts, new resolutions

**Disclaimer**: Yugioh (the game, the cards, the characters, etc, etc) doesn't belong to me. And I'm certainly not making any profit –mourns-

**Author's Notes: **Shock, horror — I'm actually updating again. I know, I know. Such a shocking move from me since I usually take so long to update; the times for monthly updates are gone, I'm afraid. However, I am trying.

Since I'm not a chess champion (nor do I actually play the game), the chess scenes with Gozaburo are somewhat vague. I hope that even though the game isn't as detailed as I'd like for it to be, the characterisation and the storyline doesn't suffer. And a thank you to **Dragon** for giving me a quick rundown of chess strategies. I certainly came away with more of an understanding for the game, even though I didn't think I could successfully imitate a grandmaster chess champion, a young ruthless genius, and the soon-to-be King of Games.

**Dragon**, I'm glad that you're still enjoying this. Lol. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last — even though I know some of the plot threads you're so patiently waiting for still aren't picked up yet. ;) Still, would more S/Y angst be sufficient?

A very big thank you goes out to **BroodingAuthor** and **Moe** for their thorough and quick beta-ing. They kicked this chapter's butt and made it passable for public consumption.

**Completed**: September 2005

* * *

**old**** conflicts, new resolutions**

Bakura watched the boy with the Puzzle closely. He watched him while they were in class, his eyes moving away every so often just to make sure no one could accuse him of spying. He watched him as they left class, grunting infrequently at Ryou's inane chatter; and after, when they were going to the cafeteria for lunch, he was still eyeing the boy and the Puzzle.

Ryou was no fool. Bakura knew this well enough having been at the end of Ryou's very perceptive glare one too many times in his trouble-making life. Ryou knew all his tricks; worst yet, he knew when Bakura was going to make trouble for (mostly) innocent people. So Bakura was unsurprised when after placing various types of food he deemed healthy enough onto Bakura's tray (like Bakura followed the apple-a-day rule as religiously as his twin; blood only went so far), Ryou nudged him and pointedly stared at a table nearby.

After they had both sat down and Bakura had finished mumbling something unpleasant under his breath, Ryou — ignoring him — started rearranging his sandwiches, juice, and apple. Bakura didn't even notice — he was back to staring at the Puzzle with something akin to longing and anger, and he still couldn't figure out why. It was instinct mainly, but some of it came from that all too brief flash he'd experienced when he first went into the classroom. For a moment there, he wasn't who he had thought he was and all he'd known was pain and anger and death. Then, that fleeting knowledge had been gone as quickly as it had came, leaving Bakura confused — that was, until his eyes had lit upon a Puzzle that he just _knew_ would somehow answer all his questions; explain this confusing mess it had started. And Bakura was sure the Puzzle had started this — this — what ever the fuck this was. Bakura had never encountered something like this in all of his sixteen years of life; the Puzzle being here was no coincidence — not with the way his Ring had reacted.

Completely focused on the next table, Bakura wasn't aware of Ryou's contemplative attention on him. He didn't even realise Ryou had finished his daily lunch routine until Ryou casually sipped his carton of orange juice and said, "You know, it wouldn't be too hard to get to know them."

Bakura finally took his eyes away from the Puzzle. From his peripheral view, he could distantly see the boy walk towards the other two new students in their school, and suddenly, Bakura felt that sharp electric sensation again. During class, he had hardly even glanced at the new students; all he'd cared about was keeping the boy and the Puzzle in sight. It was too late when he realised he should have taken a better look at their new additions. It wasn't until Ryou was dragging his lagging body to their next class that Bakura had gotten a closer look at the Kaibas, catching the extremely close resemblance between the boy and spiky-haired, red-eyed Kaiba. Again, that flash of familiarity had hit Bakura, but that time, unlike the first time, no images had cascaded through his mind like a high-speed slideshow. He didn't know which was worse: the frustration at grasping familiar visuals that wouldn't stay in his mind long enough, or the frustration at having something just beyond the edge of his knowledge.

He decided that he hated both, and asked distractedly, "What do you mean?"

"I meant, if you wanted to make friends with them, it shouldn't be too hard."

At this, Bakura turned his attention back to Ryou just in time to see him roll his eyes and take a bite out of his chicken sandwich. He narrowed his eyes. "Who are you talking about?"

"Them," Ryou gestured at the table a couple of metres away from them. Bakura turned and frowned as he caught sight of the boy and the Kaibas — one Kaiba actually, he noted — chatting away like old companions. His frown deepened.

"Well?" Ryou raised an eyebrow, now looking slightly interested. Bakura hastily smoothed out his frown; he didn't want his twin butting into his business and he certainly didn't want Ryou to do something extremely stupid like trying to _make friends_ with a guy Bakura was going to later steal from.

Or, maybe he did.

Bakura smiled slowly at Ryou. "I guess you're right. Though, why should we even bother with them?" he asked dismissively just so Ryou wouldn't get suspicious.

"Because you couldn't take your eyes off of Yugi Motou ever since History?" Ryou raised an eyebrow and smiled pleasantly, waiting for Bakura to bite. Which Bakura, though he tried to hold it off, could never resist doing.

Finally, Bakura gave in and asked, annoyed, "Yugi Motou? Which one's he?" Even though he had an idea on who Ryou was hinting at, Bakura wasn't entirely sure, and he didn't want Ryou suspecting his true motives. He didn't want Ryou involved, period.

"The one you keep spying on? The one with the interesting hair, eyes, and clothes? The one with the necklace?" Ryou listed off cheerfully, taking another sip of his juice.

Was it Bakura's imagination or did Ryou put a slight emphasis on that last item? Bakura hesitated. "Oh, him," he tried to say nonchalantly.

"Hm," was all Ryou had said, and Bakura shifted uneasily. _Damn_.

"Well, no matter. We'll just talk to them in our next class."

Bakura blinked and stared at Ryou, who was calmly finishing off his second sandwich (an egg and ham one this time). "Wait — how did you get his name? And how the hell did you get his _schedule_?"

Ryou sighed, shaking his head a little. "Bakura, I talk to people. I'm a very nice person. People talk to me because I don't beat them up or scare them off. You, on the other hand, don't talk to people. Hence, people don't talk to you. It's all very logical, you know."

"Oh, piss off," Bakura muttered. "I don't have time to be nice, especially to those idiots in our classes."

Ryou shook his head again and rolled his eyes. "I guess since you never learn, I'll just keep on trying to drum it into you," he said firmly and hid a smile when Bakura groaned.

"It's for your own good," he added, and Bakura glared at his brother.

"I hate you," Bakura muttered and ran a hand through his long white-grey mane.

"Love you too," Ryou said cheerfully. Bakura just gave up and took a bite of his apple, sourly thinking that Ryou was really, really annoying, but was also resourceful in the most mundane of ways.

* * *

Marik shivered and pulled his brown coat closer. In less than a week since they had arrived in Domino City, Marik had found to his surprise that he wasn't as quick to adapt to the climate as Ishizu and Odeon. It had irritated him at first because out of the three of them, Marik had looked forward to leaving Egypt the most and it wasn't fair that once they'd landed, he ended up being the least suited to their change of environment. The irritation felt like an itch under his skin — no matter what he did or tried to do (more clothes, less clothes, walking around outside until his lips were pressed firmly together to keep his teeth from chattering), he still couldn't adapt like Ishizu or Odeon. Ishizu, who wore her dresses and continued looking just as warm as she ever did back when they were in Egypt. And Odeon — Odeon looked as if he had never left their native country at all, from the way he treated their present home. 

He had tried not to resent them for their ease in settling in; he had tried to hold back his unreasonable anger, but that voice still escaped now and then, and if Odeon hadn't came into his room the other night and offered him a new coat he had just bought, Marik didn't think he could have controlled himself for any longer. What irritation and resentment he had held, had dissipated. He felt relieved actually, now that his head was clearer and he wasn't as irrationally angry. There was always a deep fear that if he couldn't control this _voice_, this dark, shivery voice, then something terrible would happen. That one day, he would awaken to find himself alone with blood on his hands and familiar bodies that he couldn't bear to look, to _see_, lying around in a cruel sprawl. There had been humid nights before, when he'd woken up in cold sweat, heart pounding and skin crawling and he had wiped his hands obsessively on his tiny blanket, fervently chanting that it wasn't blood. _Just sweat, just sweat, just sweat_. He hadn't bothered trying to sleep after that. Instead, he'd lie awake in the dark, counting each thud within his chest, and waited for Odeon to enter and wake him up. He'd known then, as he knew now, that Odeon was the barrier; the last defence.

He shivered again and watched the rain fall with fascination.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Ishizu said softly from somewhere behind him.

"Yeah, I guess," he murmured back distractedly, but he was already mentally preparing himself. His sister had never started a conversation with him without a purpose, and for a second, he almost wished it was different. But different wasn't something he wanted, not when he remembered how Ishizu had taken him outside of their prison for just one day…one beautiful day…and he stopped wishing.

"You know, you'll begin school in a couple of days," she said gently.

"Yeah, I know." It was said quietly, but Ishizu heard it. And that should be enough, Marik thought. He knew what he was doing; he knew what their goal was, what they had been born for, and he didn't need to be reminded. _He didn't_, he thought fiercely. It wasn't like it was easy to forget. But Ishizu just looked at him steadily with a thoughtful pause, as if she was trying to see into the future.

And she probably was, Marik knew. She could predict events with startling ease and certainty, but where the Millennium items were concerned, she was just as blind as the rest of the world. That was a flaw which couldn't be fixed, no matter how hard she tried, and Marik felt a surge of resentment. Even now, even when they should be _free_, they weren't and would never be. Not when prophecies and ancient commands controlled their future with an iron fist.

"It's important, Marik, that you understand how important all this is. One wrong move, one wrong path, and we won't be able to —" Ishizu paused. "We won't be able to finish what was started thousands of years ago," she said finally.

"I know, sister. I _know_." Marik sighed and turned away from the large, window of their apartment; he looked at Ishizu and smiled bitterly. "We've known since we were born."

"Marik…" Ishizu gently stroked his white-blonde hair.

Marik leaned into her touch and sighed. "I'll do my part. You don't have to be concerned."

"I'm not concerned about that, little brother. I'm concerned about _you_." Ishizu looked out the window, watching the fragile raindrops patter against the pane of glass, leaving nothing but a trail of wet tear tracks.

Marik said nothing, but he felt soothed by his sister's soft touch. Still he wondered though; was Ishizu really concerned about him? Or was she concerned that her little brother wouldn't be able to do his part for the Pharaoh?

Sometimes, when Ishizu smiled her soft smile and ran her hand through his hair tenderly, Marik thought the answer wouldn't be too bad; other times, he would do just about anything to not _know_.

Marik guessed that this was one of the former moments and curled closer to Ishizu's warmth. He'd never really adjusted to the climate.

* * *

_There was silence, then Seto made his move; the last move of the match. With his queen standing victoriously on Gozaburo's end and Gozaburo's pieces all gone, there wasn't really any ambiguity — Seto had his winning move, Gozaburo was loathed to admit, and the fact that it was a play on his own strategy only infuriated him even more. _

_At first, Gozaburo had been furiously silent, his eyes relentlessly searching for what went wrong; for how this upstart brat had managed to not only defeat him, but to use _his very own strategy_ against him. Then, Gozaburo was enraged. Humiliated and defeated was one thing, but to be humiliated and defeated by this young pup — by this upstart, weak brat? _

_Not so weak maybe, Gozaburo thought, and narrowed his eyes. He had underestimated this boy; he won't be foolish enough to do so again. _

_As he took note of the faint murmur of the crowd gathered during their match, Gozaburo bared his teeth dangerously in a smile. If one could call it as such. _

_"Well met. I do believe I have another match waiting for me?" he trailed off, smirking. _

_"That wasn't our deal," Seto said tightly, glaring back at him. "One of us wins, and you adopt all of us." Seto could barely grit it out; he tensed. _

_"True. But I changed my mind." With that, Gozaburo turned to the other brat — the one with the unsettling eyes. He had a moment of uneasiness, a slight cloud of apprehension before he inwardly snarled and fought it down, burying it so deep Gozaburo could almost forget this unexpected weakness — this fear that had no place inside of him. And for what? For another stray dog? _

_He had a brief struggle reconciling his image of these orphaned brats — there was no doubt they were above average, if he were to go by the one who defeated him. And yet, Gozaburo couldn't allow them their victory. Others who were older, more skilled and with a lot more experience had played Gozaburo, only to lose at his hands — he couldn't be defeated so easily by mere _children_. Nor — and this was gnawing at Gozaburo like a ravenous wolf — nor was the brief spike of fear worthy of them. No. Only just the boy with the strange eyes. There was something about him, something about those damn eyes, something to do with instincts and intuition Gozaburo had learned to trust a long time ago, and damn it all, he still thought that boy wasn't worthy of his hesitation. _

_Or, maybe he was, but there was only one way to find out. Gozaburo had a game to play._

_"Well?" he asked again, deliberately ignoring the seething looks the blue-eyed brat was currently aiming at him. When the boy flushed angrily, Gozaburo smiled satisfactorily. _

_"I'm ready," another voice spoke out, calm and collected and deeper than it had any right to be. _

_Gozaburo__ looked at this — this _boy _and decided that only time would tell. Time, and the game. He smiled, maybe a tad sadistically as he watched the boy narrow those eyes at him, but it really didn't matter. Either way, they were his. Win or lose. _

* * *

The silence in the limo was not abnormal. In fact, there had been countless times when silence was the appropriate exchange, where silence spoke more than any words could. Those times held an almost peaceful atmosphere; the quiet only served as another reminder that they knew each other too well for games and hidden agendas. 

Or, so Yami had thought almost wistfully. To say he hadn't expected this morning to have some effect on Seto would be a lie. But he could honestly admit though that he hadn't really expected Seto to be so withdrawn and cold after it all took place, and Yami had to wonder if he knew Seto as well as he thought he did. Old insecurities came rushing back to the forefront, forcing Yami to impatiently push them back.

Now wasn't the time — not if he wanted to bridge what was currently distancing them.

"Seto," Yami said softly, giving him a sideway glance, but keeping his face forward. There were careful approaches Yami had to take; there were lines of subtlety and bluntness Yami had to move between, but most importantly, Yami had to keep Seto in a stasis between emotional and emotionless. Seto operated impassively on the surface, but Yami knew better; he of all people should know how inside, Seto seethed and resented and raged. And sometimes, in rare, quiet moments, loved and cherished and tried to not clutch at what could disappear.

Yami knew he had to pass finely drawn lines and carefully built defences. He also knew he could do it — he'd already done it before; it was just that this time, there was a variable Yami hadn't foreseen: Yugi Motou. He was just uncertain — enough to be reluctant to prod answers from Seto, but it had to be done. Or else they were going to live in awkward and tense silences until the situation resolved itself, and Yami didn't want that. He knew Seto didn't either, so he tried again.

"Seto."

This time, there was a barely imperceptible nod. Yami supposed it was better than nothing and made his voice calmer, almost nonchalant, like they were discussing business transactions and the addition of new gaming systems.

"You know, we never did finish that conversation at lunch. And surprisingly," Yami said wryly, "you kept silent through the rest of our classes. I wonder why."

When there was no answer, Yami turned towards Seto with a frown. He was about to say something, but at that moment, the limo stopped and Yami's door opened with Mokuba bouncing in like a tornado of curly hair and bright smiles. Turning towards Mokuba, Yami could only hope that their tension wasn't as obvious as it appeared, though even if it had been, Mokuba was exceptionally perceptive when he wanted to be.

"You're fighting," Mokuba said quietly as soon as the door was shut and the limo had started to move again. "This isn't — _you're not supposed to fight anymore_."

Yami turned to Seto, wanting words he couldn't conjure up, no matter how hard he tried. He found himself going silent, mouth closing at the look on Seto's face. How rare it was, to see Seto Kaiba with his defences stripped and a slightly lost, vulnerable — almost desperate looking — expression on his face; how rare it was, to see Seto as anything other than a stone-faced wall, uncompromising and virtually indestructible despite the erosion of time and weather; and how rare it was, for Yami to be gripped with such a strong, possessive protectiveness for someone who he well knew could survive almost anything.

Again, Yami could find no words to heal this rift. Mokuba… Seto… He could protect them from external hurts, obvious pain that with the right medicine and treatment could easily heal with a minimum period of time. But this was internal, this was partly because of Yami, and he didn't know what to do.

"We're not fighting, Mokuba," Seto said just as quietly as Mokuba had, his voice full of reassurance and determination.

Mokuba snorted, and Yami watched as Seto stifled a brief smile. "Okay, maybe it looked like we were, but it wasn't a fight." He paused. "It was more of a…of an issue we hadn't taken care of. We will soon."

Seto looked directly at Yami. "Right?"

"Depends on you," Yami said carefully.

Seto nodded and Yami felt relief surge through him. It wasn't impossible — they could resolve this, _would_ resolve this, and all Yami had to do now was to play it carefully. Seto was only willing for so long; once a nerve was hit, the walls slammed back up ruthlessly.

"Okay," Mokuba said uncertainly.

Yami smiled gently. "It'll be fine," he said, and then wondered if he should give Mokuba some kind of reassuring contact. There were times when he wondered about what Mokuba thought of their closed-off, non-tactile emotional states. Certainly, a young child needed touch, something that was lacking from both he and Seto; not that Yami or Seto ever brushed off Mokuba when he had needed hugs or a warm ruffle to his wild mane, but neither showed affection easily, and it wasn't difficult to be concerned on how that would affect Mokuba. Still, he supposed the fact that Mokuba was here, well-adjusted and happy was proof enough.

And then, after Mokuba took several thorough glances at Yami and Seto (back and forth, back and forth), when the tight upset look slowly disappeared and a warmer expression took hold, Yami finally relaxed, unleashing tension he wasn't aware was there.

He knew Seto was doing the same, because the atmosphere suddenly lightened.

It was a good start, Yami thought. They just needed to follow through with a good ending — the type of ending where they always nearly failed. _Nearly_, being the key word. Yami always won, and he wasn't about to lose now.

* * *

_Gozaburo__ narrowed his eyes and looked at the boy in front of him with a wariness he'd only ever given to his enemies. The ones he thought were worthy of his attention. _

_For all of the boy's — Seto, he recalled silently — clever, quick mind; for all of his arrogance, his ruthlessness, and his thirst for revenge, there were still others like him in the world. Maybe not as clever, and maybe not as ruthless and determined, but they were there. If Gozaburo so wanted to, he could have found a couple of gifted brats and chosen one for his heir. It had been a shame to think that his company, his _empire_, was wasted because of human fallibilities. Better for his name to live on, on someone else's terms than for it to fade away to a side note in history. Like Alexander, he was tempted by the lure of immortality. _

_Although, he never expected to accept it in an almost impulsive move.__ And because of a skinny, blue-eyed brat as well, Gozaburo almost snorted in disgust. Being reduced to such foolish actions angered him like nothing else could, and perhaps that was why he accepted the challenging words. Perhaps that was why he allowed himself to be goaded into something he never would have agreed to, had it been another day, had it been another brat. _

_But it was this particular brat, and while Gozaburo grudgingly respected his ruthless mind, his desperate focus on what he most wanted, Gozaburo didn't give him another thought as soon as the other boy had sat down across from him. This was the one with the strange eyes — red, blood, crimson — and spiked hair of blonde and purple and possible brown, but that wasn't what held Gozaburo's attention. It wasn't the strangeness of the colouring of his eyes or his hair that had Gozaburo wired and tense. No, it was the _look_ of those eyes. _

_Calm, serene._

_Old._

_If Gozaburo had been a suspicious man, he would have shivered. If he had had any religious inclination, he would have called upon old rituals and ancient lore. But he wasn't and he didn't — thus he glared at the boy and felt his fingers itch to move his knights. _

_"Well?"_

_The boy stared back at him and gave a firm nod. Then, with fingers gently caressing his queen and king, he reached for one of his pawns. _

_"Let's begin."_

_Calm._

_Serene._

Old.

_Gozaburo__ pushed away the uneasiness hovering at the back of his mind and prepared for his turn. _


	7. these unbroken bonds

**Disclaimer**: Same as previous. YuGiOh doesn't belong to me; I'm just borrowing the characters for fan-ish purposes. No profit is made and blah, blah, blah. I do this for fun.

**A/N**: This chapter is pretty much about Seto and Yami. For some plot advancement, tune in for the next chapter, wherein Bakura meets someone new, Yugi has a talk with Joey, and there's some Seto/Yami-ness.

However, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be done. Semester will be starting soon and on top of that, I have a report to write. So. This is my long-winded way of saying I'll be writing slowly.

Thanks to **Yuugi-chan** and **Moerae** for beta-ing and also to everyone who stuck by this fic despite my sporadic updates. My responses to reviews will be on LJ and will also be tagged for convienence.

_Completed: 10.02.2006_

* * *

**these unbroken bonds**

Yami sometimes wondered how silence could be so loud. It was an oxymoron technically, and yet, silence had always been louder than any background noise Yami had ever encountered. It droned relentlessly, amplifying fears one would never have thought they had had. It sensitised every thought, every emotion — it reminded Yami of the orphanage, back before Mokuba had stared at him curiously one day and smiled.

Yami didn't like silence. He'd had too much of it already when he was young and wildly different from the other children. He'd had enough of it now too, but for entirely different reasons.

Seto, despite his words back in the limo, had walked straight towards his study. The lines of his shoulders had tightened — almost as if he were preparing for battle — as soon as they had entered the mansion. Yami had frowned and would have almost called for him had Mokuba not tugged at his arm just then.

"Yami, you'll fix this, right?" Mokuba had bit his lip and looked trustingly up at him. "You always fix Seto."

"Mokuba…" Yami had trailed off. "I can't fix everything. I'm not… I'm not..." He'd fought for the words, looking frustrated.

"I know, I know. That's okay, Yami. It's not just you," Mokuba had said. "Seto has to fix things too. The problem is making him do it."

And Yami had to smile. _Such apt words, from such a small being_. With a gentle laugh, Yami had brushed Mokuba's hair away from his eyes. "You're pretty smart."

"Yeah," Mokuba had said, shrugging and smiling slyly, "I have to be to keep you guys in line."

Then, with a more serious look on his face, Mokuba had asked, "It's not that bad, is it?"

"No. The answer will always be no, no matter what." Yami gently tugged at Mokuba's mane. "I promise."

Mokuba had nodded and hugged him tightly. "You don't have to promise, I believe you anyway. Just go make sure Seto does as well."

And then, Yami had gone upstairs to Seto's study. He hadn't bothered knocking; he knew Seto was already aware of his presence, though he didn't think Seto would do anything about it despite his earlier pledge. Yami could feel his temper slip and the steady flow of anger thrumming through him, his control only holding on by a thin thread. There was only one question he wanted to ask, and Seto was making it almost impossible for him to get an answer.

_Why? _

Why Seto suddenly withdrew himself, shutting himself away as if Yami was suddenly unworthy of his attention, his time — as if Yami was just like everybody else. From the first moment they had met, Seto had never treated him as anything less than an equal. He had never treated Yami as anything less than a fascinating adversary, a worthy opponent — his partner and accomplice in their games of pretences and lies. This abrupt change had to have been about Yugi — and the question was still _why?_

Yami wanted his answer, and he wanted it now. He wasn't going to settle for silence anymore.

"Seto," he said quietly, stepping in front of Seto's desk. Yami looked down at Seto's bowed head, pretending he didn't see the way Seto tensed and forcibly unclenched his fist, and waited. There was a good chance Seto wouldn't acknowledge him, but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to give up until he settled their differences — until Seto finally _saw_ him again.

"Yami," Seto said, voice low. He didn't look up.

"We need to talk."

Seto looked up and for a second, his lips curled. Yami could feel himself smiling too at the overly dramatic words, but then it passed, and the tension overtook the unexpected humorous turn.

"Do we really need to do this?" Seto turned away again. "I think we both know where we stand."

"Do we?" Yami asked while struggling to contain his anger; he didn't succeed. "Or were you just lying to Mokuba?"

Seto turned towards Yami angrily and opened his mouth to speak — most probably yell — but he didn't. Yami stared straight at Seto unwaveringly, almost daring Seto to fight back, to argue, to get this out of their system so everything would be back to the way it used to be; to the way Yami wanted everything to be.

Watching Seto inwardly struggle with anger and pain, Yami was nearly tempted to take a step back and give Seto his space. Nearly — if he hadn't been so certain that everything had to be brought out in the open; that they somehow _needed_ this.

Yami waited. He waited for Seto to speak because Seto needed to make the first move, say the first word; and because Yami needed him to.

"You wanted to find your family — now you have," Seto nearly spat out the words. His breathing deepened and his eyes flashed, but all Yami could see and hear was the pain.

This was his answer. This was the reason — there could be nothing else that would make Seto act the way he did. He would — and always — want to leave first, because he wouldn't tolerate being left behind.

_Why won't he believe it? Why does he still doubt me? After everything… _

But, no. He wouldn't be Seto if he didn't have doubts and pain and a shattering need to rip apart his weaknesses. It wasn't as if Yami didn't have his own insecurities as well; far be it for him to judge what he himself had done countless times before. It was the price of their past, the sacrifice they had made when they went with Gozaburo. Wouldn't Gozaburo be laughing in hell, to see his success thus far?

Yami tore that thought apart and denied every implication. There was _no_ success because they were still here; still together. Seto hadn't turned away completely, and Yami was still fighting — would keep on fighting, just as Seto could never turn away from him completely. That too, was a price of their past.

"I searched for my family, because I needed to know. I searched for them, because I wanted to know _why_. You and Mokuba already knew why — both of you already knew how it came to be, how you ended up in an orphanage — but _I_ never knew. No records, Seto. I had no records, no birth certificate, nothing." Unwaveringly calm, except for the tightness in his throat, Yami continued, "I don't know who I am — _was_. Don't know where I come from, who my parents were, why I was left there. Why nobody wanted me."

Staring at Seto, he said more softly, "I just want answers, that's all. I already know who I am, I already have a family."

There was no sound other than the cadence of their breaths, almost synchronised, almost in phase, and Yami fought to keep still, to let Seto make his move.

"I should know this," Seto said slowly, testing the words. "You wouldn't—"

And Yami smiled. In relief or in affection, he wasn't certain; it was possibly both. He finished Seto's sentence firmly. "Because I don't want to."

"Because you don't want to," Seto repeated, relaxing slightly. "Today caught me off guard. I didn't think—" he closed his mouth, and looked uncomfortably at him.

But Yami just snorted in amusement. "No, I didn't think so either. I knew the chances of finding anything were small, but I just had to try."

Seto nodded, and then twisted his lips wryly. "Who would have thought the answers to all your questions would just turn up, no private investigators necessary."

"Fate," Yami said almost teasingly, and Seto narrowed his eyes.

"Don't start," he warned. "You know I hate that pre-destined crap."

Yami snorted and smirked. "Blah, blah, blah."

"I hate that too," Seto growled, but his lips were twitching, and the tension had abated, leaving behind something softer.

Yami walked towards him and then tugged Seto's head down, until they were eye to eye. He curved a palm along Seto's chin, then neck; he pressed forward, sighing at the warmth of Seto's body, relaxing into the heat before he tilted his head forward, just the barest touch of Seto's lips and the faintest warmth of Seto's breath, and his heart pounded, heat and lust building when Seto instinctively reached for him.

* * *

_His eyes were blurry, and he could feel the weight of the chains grow heavier and heavier with every minute, every second. His body was exhausted, his mind foggy and weighed down by the need for rest. For sleep. But the textbooks sitting in front of him, awaiting him, told him defiantly that in no uncertain terms could he stop. Rest, sleep, rest — they weren't for him. _

_They weren't for the worthy, or so Gozaburo had said, but then, if it was true, then why wasn't Yami in here with him? Why did Gozaburo leave Yami out of his tests?_

_Because Yami was favoured. _

_Because Yami was worthy._

_Because Yami was better._

_At that, Seto clenched his fist so hard, his pen nearly snapped in two. No, no, no! he raged. Better — no, that wasn't true; he couldn't be. Seto wasn't inferior, he couldn't be, but if he wasn't, then why was he here? Why?_

_His head hurt, pounding the back of his skull to the beat of his heart; it had started mildly enough — a tightness to his temple, an ache around his forehead — but then it had deepened until it took most of Seto's concentration to ignore it. Concentration Seto had needed elsewhere._

_He was so tired. His eyes felt itchy, dry, and his neck hurt from the angle it had stayed in for countless hours, always accompanied by the chime of the old, polished grandfather clock that sat near the door like a disapproving guardian. It probably was, Seto thought. He wouldn't put it past Gozaburo to add in hidden cameras in the guise of checking Seto's progress; it would explain the irrational feeling he kept having of being watched and judged, like he was some animal in cage, snarling at his jailers. _

_Fighting off exhaustion and fatigue, Seto could only clench at the textbook in front of him more tightly. How long before his body's weaknesses overrode the force of his will? How long before his mind succumbed to exhaustion? Seto didn't know, but he was determined to keep going for as long as he could. With enough control, with enough focus...surely... _

_His vision blurred, the words in front of him became nothing but a blob of smeared black ink. He could feel his mind shutting down, lost in a chaos of numbing tiredness and fear — fear, Seto would never admit; could never admit._

_He flinched at the creak of the door and held himself still when footsteps padded towards him. Immediately, his eyes refocused and adrenaline rushed through his blood, drumming into his heart until all he could hear was the thudding beat of his chest, until all he could feel was the burning weight of Gozaburo's gaze. _

"_You were sleeping," Gozaburo said brusquely. Then, Seto heard the stretch of something leathery and long._

"_I wasn't." His heart thumped, his head hurt, and his mouth was dry. He could barely speak, but he fought for composure. _

"_Really," Gozaburo started mockingly, "a failure and now a liar too. Did you think I couldn't tell? That I couldn't _see_?" _

_Gozaburo_ _grabbed a handful of Seto's hair and pulled his head back, wrenching it down until Seto was staring up at him, struggling to keep his face expressionless. _

"_What makes you think you _deserve _to be my heir? What makes you think you're worthy?" Gozaburo continued, anger dissolving into something cold and cruel. _

"_You didn't even pass this test I gave you," he snorted, and then he narrowed his eyes. "Didn't even last the night."_

"_I would have," Seto said coldly, ignoring Gozaburo's tight grip, "if you hadn't interrupted my studying."_

_For a moment, Seto stared back at Gozaburo, a challenging tilt to his chin. Then, he flinched as the crack of whip reverberated through the room. _

"_I interrupted _nothing_," Gozaburo said slowly, emphasising the last word as he pushed Seto's head forward this time and clamped his hand roughly down onto his neck. _

_Seto_ _struggled, pain and fear cascading, adrenaline surging, but he remained imprisoned, caged, weak. _

_Gozaburo_ _lifted his arm and bore down hard._

* * *

_I should know this_...

Seto lay awake, watching each breath Yami took in his sleep. He had tried to sleep earlier, but found that he was restless and his mind unwilling to relax. Curling around Yami — comfortable as it was — hadn't helped this time. Maybe it was because this time, Yami was part of the reason why he couldn't relax, why he couldn't let go of this cold sensation of loss.

It was both frustrating and commonplace to have his mind at odds with his heart. Rationally and logically, what Yami had said earlier made sense; curiosity and the need to find one's blood family were to be expected for an orphan who knew nothing of his past. Irrationally and illogically, however, Seto was unwilling to let go and let Yami find out what he could about his family. He just couldn't. No matter what words Yami spoke or what action Yami took, Seto couldn't shake off the idea that he was going to lose Yami one way or the other. It was a certainty he felt deep in his soul, in his heart, and despite his utter disbelief in fate or destiny, he couldn't dispel it.

He couldn't, not when part of him believed it so much. And why would he believe it anyway? Why the hell was he so certain about losing Yami, when all signs pointed to the contrary?

He could say it was just his foolish, weak self allowing his insecurities and fears to take over. What he couldn't say for certain, was that it would never, ever come true.

Because he could allow himself his fears and insecurities and weaknesses; he could allow himself all that and more, but he couldn't allow himself to believe entirely in something he knew wasn't true.

Maybe he could make himself believe it. Maybe if he could convince himself hard enough, then it would be all right.

_I should know this_, he thought almost fervently, repeating those earlier words like a promise, and then closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and released it, his gaze immediately turning towards Yami's peaceful, sleeping face, and he fought off the urge to burrow himself into that warmth. Gently, he shifted sideways and reached for the thin sheet covering. He pulled it down until Yami's upper body was bared.

Yami shivered slightly, and Seto stilled, waiting for either consciousness or further sleep. When Yami didn't move, Seto softly traced golden skin; cheek and jaw first, and then the neck. Soft and vulnerable. Firm, but gentle. And Yami, in his sleep, trusted Seto deeply enough to shift into his touch, moving until palm nearly encompassed the whole neck.

_Trust._

Seto shivered and took his hand away. He shook his head, and then turned his gaze back onto Yami. Almost as if he was drawn, his eyes turned to the locket hanging around Yami's neck like it had always been there. It was the exact replica, to the finest detail, of the one hanging around his and Mokuba's necks.

He stared at it for a second, and then he involuntarily reached to trace the pink, jagged lines etched along Yami's arm. From wrist to elbow they ran thickly, in a crisscross engraved by a silver dagger years ago.

_Dagger for the punished, blood awash in sins_, Gozaburo had said.

Seto kept tracing the scars, as if to memorise the soft and lumpy feel of the lines, as if to convince himself that they would remain like this: scarred and damaged, but eternal and unbroken.

* * *

_Seto_ _remained silent as his visitor entered his room. He was lying facedown, with his back fully bandaged and his arms hanging listlessly by his side. The throbbing, raw pain which had blasted him as soon as he had regained consciousness had been willed into submission for the moment, like background noise being ignored until it grew too loud._

"_Seto..." _

_He heard a sharp inhalation from his left and knew that Yami would be shocked. _

"_Did he do this to you?" Yami sounded angry. Good, Seto thought._

"_Seto?" Now he sounded confused. _

_Seto_ _almost smiled, except he wasn't capable of feeling anything other than listless emptiness and cold hate. Even the dull pain was nothing more than an empty feeling. _

_He remained silent. What was there to say? What _could _he say? _

_And it was none of Yami's business anyway._

"_Seto... Why are you doing this? Why won't you say something?" Was that a plea? It sounded like a plea, it felt like a plea, but Yami didn't plead. Yami had never pleaded with anyone before and Seto didn't really believe he would start now._

"_Why... Seto..." _

_He could hear Yami's silent hurt, although he didn't know how. He could feel that small bit of rejection being taken and absorbed and tested, and then accepted, like drinking something bitter and sour. He didn't care. He liked it just the way it was — no emotion, no pain. Detached. _

"_You've never ignored me before." Low, dark. Pained. _

_For a moment, Seto felt the vaguest sense of unease, maybe even regret, but he brushed it aside. What Yami felt was none of his business, just as what he'd felt, what he'd been through, was none of Yami's. They were separate and divided. It had been naïve of them to have thought otherwise. _

_Seto_ _waited for more words, but hoped for none. He almost thought Yami was going to leave, to turn away and never glance back, except Yami didn't seem to be following the script; didn't seem to hear Seto's silence._

"_You never ignored me before — you did many things, said many things, good and bad, but you've never ignored me before. Others did, but you didn't." Seto heard a rustle and then footsteps, coming closer and closer. _

"_The other kids... they looked at me and they saw a demon. A red-eyed demon. No parents they knew of, no past; just mysteriously left there like unwanted garbage. Even the social workers were afraid of me. Not obviously and not intentionally, but I knew they hadn't wanted me there. Didn't want me there. They never looked at me; over my shoulder, above my head... but they never looked at _me_." _

_There was a moment where Seto didn't hear anything else no matter how hard he strained his ears, but then there were more footsteps. They continued on until they stopped just on Seto's right, close enough for Yami to touch. He felt a subtle shift in the air, a whisper in the gentle air currents that spoke of movement, and then he felt a tender, soft touch on his back, just barely there._

"_I hated it." Low, dark, but there wasn't any hint of pain in there. _

_Silence. But Yami kept tracing his bandages carefully and gently, and Seto fought to hold onto his detachment. _

"_Does it hurt?" It was a whisper in the silence and as intimate as Yami's touch._

_Seto_ _wanted to say no, because it was the truth: Yami's hands felt more like comfort than pain. He instead said, "Yes."_

_Yami's_ _touch faltered, and Seto finally turned his head towards him, looking at him straight in the eye. _

"_But I don't want you to stop."_


	8. a meeting of like minds

**Disclaimer**: Same as previous. In no way or form do I own YuGiOh.

**A/N**: Another update! Shock, horror! Joking aside, I've been slowly getting back into the writing groove, so to speak. After many months of nothing but technical, report-style writing, I felt a tad concerned about how to continue this chapter. But here it is, with the plot thickening, but no Seto/Yami flashback. That would be the next chapter, where in Yugi and Yami have lunch (accompanied their shadows) and Bakura does a little eavesdropping (he's sneaky like that).

As always, comments, reviews, and constructive crit are very welcomed.

Thanks to **Moe** for beta-ing.

_13 July 2006_

* * *

**  
a meeting of like minds**

The school was empty, devoid of the bustling life and chatter that would usually permeate the grounds. The wind chimed against closed windows, whistling through small openings and giving off a cool breeze. A breeze that Bakura leaned into while puffing out ribbons of smoke, the weight of the cigarette in his mouth settling his nerves and soothing his wild, feral thoughts.

The first day of school; who knew it would start off with an explosive bang instead of its usual dull boredom?

Certainly not Bakura, who had been blind-sided by the discomforting, uncontrollable need to possess a necklace he had never seen before. Bakura exhaled slowly and wondered if he had been a thief in a past life. He had a skill for it, sure enough, although he had never used it much in this life. Ryou had a heavy hand and a very honest mind; his morals usually bled onto Bakura by virtue of proximity, despite Bakura's resistance, and if Ryou ever found out...

Bakura inhaled one last time before dropping the cigarette butt onto the ground and smothering it with his foot. He leaned onto the wall of the west wing and stared bemusedly at the sky. The afternoon sun was mild and lukewarm at best, its rays barely lightening the greyish atmosphere. It might rain soon, Bakura thought, and wondered if he would be able to make it home before it started. Ryou had their only umbrella and he had gone home straight after their last class, frowning a little more with each step he took. Bakura knew Ryou was more than a bit miffed; there were not many things they didn't share, and when he had refused to go home with Ryou then, it was almost like waving a banner titled _Bakura_ _is hiding something_ right under his nose.

He was going to pay when he got back; he just knew it. Which made stepping away from his nice, comfortable spot all the more difficult. Why leave, if he was only going to be bombarded with questions he couldn't answer? And if not bombarded, then faced with hurt silence that made it all the more unappealing.

He sighed and made a face, fingers itching for another cigarette. Maybe if he went home stinking of smoke Ryou would start his lectures on lung cancer and death, and end up distracted enough to forget about the entire day. And maybe, Bakura thought wryly, he was just going to have to keep dreaming. As if Ryou would get sidetracked so easily and conveniently.

Almost instinctively, he turned towards his right, a spark of _something_ rushing through his veins. It was familiar, similar to what had happened when he had seen the Puzzle necklace, but unlike earlier, it was less urgent; less brutal. It was more like slicing into warm butter, instead of the pounding sensation of chopping wood, for which Bakura could only be relieved. It hadn't been pleasant.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he drawled, looking over the strange boy with a frown. Golden skin, light—no—blond hair, and unusual jewellery.

Foreigner, through and through, Bakura snorted. He was an exchange student no doubt and had probably only just arrived here from the look of him.

"Looking around," the boy said casually, looking over Bakura intensely. His eyes had hovered near Bakura's chest, and Bakura fought off the urge to cover and shield his Ring. It was stupid and irrational, but Bakura couldn't help it. There was a hidden danger in those eyes, and he needed to effectively ward against it. From what, he didn't know.

"What are you looking at?" Bakura snapped, staring suspiciously at the new student. He received an enigmatic smile in return, and Bakura narrowed his eyes.

"Nothing," the new student said contemplatively; he tilted his head to the side, studying Bakura intensely for a moment before he took a step back. "My name is Marik," he suddenly said. "You?"

"Bakura," Bakura gritted out and turned away. The uneasiness which had settled around his stomach was now spreading through his entire body like an epidemic: quick, fast, and fatal. His Ring was tingling in warning, and Marik's intense gaze was more than discomforting—it was too thorough, too deep. It seemed as though Marik was staring straight through his soul, past the walls and traps and right into the centre, where his deepest thoughts lay.

He didn't like it, and the urge to make his displeasure known was strong. "Enough," he growled, and felt a small tinge of satisfaction when Marik's gaze turned away briefly.

The satisfaction didn't last long.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Marik said, tilting his head strangely. "I think it'll be interesting."

Bakura stared at him unblinkingly, but Marik just smiled and walked away. He gave a little wave just before he was out of school grounds, and Bakura scowled. Foreigner speaking nonsense, Bakura sneered, and tried to shove away the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted another cigarette, but didn't dare.

* * *

"Yug, are you sure that's a good idea?" Joey said, pacing along the length of Yugi's room tensely. "I mean, after all the things they've said about the Kaibas... you still want to do this?" 

Joey cracked his knuckles; the sound made Yugi wince. "Yeah, I'm sure. I mean…he could be my brother. You know about my father; you know he could've done the same thing to someone else. And can you stop doing that?" Yugi frowned and rubbed his own knuckles in sympathy. "It sounds painful."

"Huh?" Joey stopped pacing and looked down at his hands. "Oh, it doesn't really hurt."

Yugi rolled his eyes. "I know that, but it just—sounds painful." He made a face. "And anyway, you're gonna get sore hands when you get old."

Now Joey frowned; he held up his hands and squinted at them in confusion. "Really?"

"Yeah," Yugi said, nodding earnestly.

"Well, I—stop distracting me, damn it!" Joey said, nearly stomping his feet like an exasperated two-year-old.

For second, Yugi looked so confused and innocent that Joey felt guilty. Really guilty. Like he'd-just-run-over-an-old-lady guilty. He was about to apologise when he noticed the widening grin on Yugi's face.

"Sorry, Joey," Yugi said, unrepentantly still grinning. "You're just _so_ easy, and I really don't want to talk about it. It's done and I'm going, and you're not going to convince me otherwise. Why waste time?"

"Yug! I'm serious. I really don't feel good about this. About them." He sighed and sat down on the edge of Yugi's bed and fiddled with the worn blanket. "And I know you'll probably go anyway—and they call _me_ stubborn—but, I don't know. I just felt like I had to say it."

"I know," Yugi said, looking at him seriously now, their earlier play forgotten. "I know you're trying to help me, and that you've got, like, great instincts for things, but I really don't think there's any harm in a little meeting. Sort of like meeting for lunch or something, if we were in school."

"Which you did," Joey pointed out, feeling slightly petulant, "despite what I said."

"Yeah, I know that too." Yugi smiled and sat next to him. "But you're still my friend anyway. Forgiven?"

Joey sighed, but couldn't help smiling back. It was Yugi, after all, and Joey couldn't really resist following where Yugi led. It might have been leftover guilt from back before, when he was far from being friendly, or it might just be the fact that he knew Yugi would do the same for him if their roles were reversed. Either way, Joey knew he didn't have a chance of stopping Yugi when he'd made up his mind. He supposed he probably shouldn't have even tried, but hey, he wasn't Joey Wheeler for nothing—and Joey Wheeler always tried, no matter what.

* * *

Marik wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill. He was still adjusting to the climate, but with more visible progress than the past few weeks; whether this was because he'd finally accepted their mission in life, he didn't know. And he had all but accepted it—he had—until he found an intriguing, unexpected player, unforeseen even by Ishizu. He knew this because Ishizu would have told them otherwise, so determined that everything would go as she prophesied that she would have never, ever allowed room for any errors. Any complications. 

And if Ishizu hadn't foreseen... then that meant Bakura had a Millennium Item in his possession. Marik shivered, and this time, it wasn't from the cold. It was impossible—it was incredible—and nobody _knew_. Nobody, except Marik.

At first, when he had felt a familiar-yet-not presence, he had looked around disbelievingly. He had lived in the presence of two Millennium items all throughout his life—it would be impossible for him to mistake it for anything else. And yet, it was also impossible for another Millennium item to be here. The Puzzle was here, certainly, but Marik knew this was no Puzzle.

It soon became clear to Marik that he was apparently living in a world of impossibilities, because once he'd seen Bakura, had felt the presence of his Millennium item, he knew everything in his life wouldn't be the same again. What was rife with impossibilities now seemed achievable; hopeful. They didn't have to follow Ishizu's prophesy—they weren't governed by ancient rituals and ancient curses and ancient laws. They could _change_. And that, perhaps, was the most exciting discovery Marik had ever made. For someone who'd lived with a seer who saw past, present, and future; for someone who was trapped within his own destiny first by fate and then by family, it was almost like finding heaven.

Marik shivered again, but he barely noticed it. The sun was warm and the wind had calmed to a soothing breeze, and the future—the future looked more promising by the minute.

* * *

Seto watched Yami evenly as he paced along their bedroom, an intense frown on his face. 

"You think I'm doing the right thing?" He didn't pause, didn't even look at Seto—he kept moving, wanting to release the tension and uncertainty away in his relentless pacing.

"Do you doubt yourself?" Seto kept his face blank, his body motionless.

"No. I want to know. I _need_ to know. I just…I just don't know what the price is for that knowledge." Seto remained motionless, and Yami carefully didn't look at Seto. The pause was heavy, fraught with unsaid words and hidden meanings neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

"Is there a price?" Seto said, staring over Yami's shoulder.

"I don't know—is there?" Yami had stopped pacing; his words were casual, but with a hint of challenge and need.

"I wouldn't think so." Careful, cautious—Seto, by force of will, kept the tension and doubts hidden within. The choice was Yami's—it had always been Yami's—and Yami needed to choose now with no external interference. Seto had never interfered. If he had, then it wouldn't have been a choice at all.

"You wouldn't think so or you wouldn't know so?"

"Is there a difference?" Seto asked, but he was stalling for time and Yami knew it.

"You tell me." Yami sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"No. Yes." Seto turned away. "There's no…price. Not one I want, anyway."

And Seto could feel the tension drain away, leaving the room much warmer than before. He had said the right thing, and Yami had reacted in the right way—and if they had been a normal family (and Seto inwardly snorted at this), it would have been an open conversation with eye contact and visible body language—but because this was _them_, in Seto's dim-lit office, with shadows shielding every thought, every expression, with the silence and dark acting as a barrier between two opposing forces, each with enough power to change each other's course: this was the _only_ way it could be.

"Come with me," Yami said suddenly, a sudden burst of sound in the silent aftermath.

And Seto said, "Yes."

Because it felt _wrong_ to say anything else. Because Yami needed him—_needed_ him—and Seto had never refused, could never refuse.

* * *

Yami's kisses were hot, but his hands were cold, and Seto hissed when they caressed bare skin. Tonight was not about want or need or comfort—or any combination thereof, like many other sultry nights, where nightmares were chased by pleasure and pain, where kisses and bites grew fierce and raw. Tonight was _desperation_, was possession and claiming and marking all compressed together into a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heavy breaths and moans filled with pleasure-borderline-pain. 

Tonight was about _fucking_. About erasing anything—_everything_—that threatened their lives, their equilibrium, and their hearts. It was about _marking_ (the back of Yami's neck, his right shoulder, the silky smooth skin between hip and thigh).

It was about possession.

It was about closure.

It was about _desperation._

* * *

_  
Screams rang in his ear, the heavy stomps of running feet, of bodies falling to the ground echoed again and again; each time with some variation—a woman's stricken cries instead of a man's baritone sobs, several thuds instead of just a couple, a child's weeping, a baby's wail…_

_And sand and light and the sound of spears and the smell of armour and horses—_

_And screams, more screams, heavy, hard, low, as the cries grew louder, as the stench of fear grew stronger, as the shouts grew more menacing…_

And Bakura woke up in a sweat, panting even as the fear and anger slowly subsided. He wiped his forehead, grimaced when it came away wet, and looked for Ryou. For comfort, though he didn't want to admit it. They'd shared beds when they were little, both huddled under blankets and curled around each other like puppies seeking warmth. As they grew older, Bakura wanted more space, more room, and instead of bunk beds they each got new single beds; still, despite the want for independence and individuality, Bakura had never actually asked for another room. At sixteen years old, he still shared the same room as his brother—and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't really muster up the energy and effort into moving into a new room. A room without Ryou.

He got out of his sweat-soaked bed quietly and walked towards Ryou's side. Officially, they'd agreed that Bakura would take the left side while Ryou would take the right side (the side facing the window) when they had first moved into this house; but unofficially, in Bakura's version, what happened was Ryou wanted the right side and by god he would have the right side.

Just as Bakura was about to slide in, Ryou woke and blinked owlishly up at him. Then, he silently lifted up his blanket and without a word, Bakura settled in, letting the comfort of Ryou's warmth and the steady beat of their hearts lull him into a dreamless sleep, where nightmares fear to tread, and Bakura could forget the anger and urgency of an unfulfilled deed.

He wrapped his arms around Ryou, as Ryou did the same to him, and they curled into each until they were one and whole.


End file.
